#ships┊ ❛ you’ll break my heart. that’s a fact. ❜

[hcneybeed]

tag dump

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ship: Shoto Todoroki x Fem Reader! 💋

Note: The fic gets a bit saucy, so A18+ ONLY just to be safe!

Genre: Fluff, Romance, S*xual Tension, Making Out

CW: MDNI!, kissing, making out, boobs, fondling, romance, sexual tension, semi-spicy scenes, lemon

Link to My Master List

Its mid-afternoon in the UA library. The early Spring sunlight is streaming through the tall windows and across the sci-fi novel you're flipping through. You sigh; content to finally have a Saturday off after a grueling few weeks of classes, training and internship activities.

You think back to a particularly tough training session that had taken place the day before - you had finally kicked Shoto Todoroki's ass in front of the whole class. You smile as you remember the shocked look on his face as you reached down to help him back to his feet.

"You had it coming, hot stuff." You winked as he grabbed your hand and let you pull him back to standing position. His face had flushed red in humiliation at the loss.

You're suddenly jerked out of your reverie when a figure looms over you, casting a long shadow on the desk before you. You turn, startled. As if pulled from your daydream, Shoto Todoroki has materialized before you – tall and handsome. You look up at him in surprise, mouth half open.

"I think we should kiss." Shoto's deep voice says above you, his tone neutral.

"Huh?" Your mouth drops fully open. Shoto is looking down at you with eyes alight with determination. That cute blush is back - splashed across his pale cheeks and across his aristocratic nose.

"I was thinking back to our fight yesterday, and the reason why I lost. It was because I was thinking about kissing you the whole time. I let myself get distracted. I think that if we kissed, I could get over it and refocus on training." So matter-of-fact! That was one thing you liked about Shoto - he was straightforward.

"Um...okay." With an effort, you close your gaping mouth. You’re absolutely dumbfounded. Shoto has never shown any romantic interest in you before. You’ve never caught wandering eyes on you in class, he’s never stashed a love note in your locker. None of the typical school love tropes have been leveraged here. If anything, the two of you are loose acquaintances on the cusp of being friends. Maybe a few more months of class and group activities together would have helped you bridge the gap and fully form a decent friendship.

You wonder if he’s been into you all this time, or if this is just a whim he’s exploring. Either way - who are you to let an opportunity to kiss a hot guy go by the wayside? You snap your book shut and stand. "You want to do this right now?"

Shoto nods, and turns to walk away with the expectation that you’ll follow. You get up and sweep your things into your bag, heart beating double time. You quickly jog to catch up with Shoto – he’s already out the door. The two of you walk across the UA grounds in silence, your footsteps falling into a soft rhythm.  Your mind is going at a million miles per minute – could this all be an elaborate prank? Shoto has never struck you as the type to play a cruel joke on a classmate. Quite the opposite – when he’s not training he seems so soft and sweet. He strikes you as more of an introvert than anything else. He keeps people at a safe distance. You’ve always been under the impression that when it comes to Shoto, trust is earned, not freely given.

You wonder if this kissing business means that you’ve earned a bit of that trust? Who’s to say.

“So…” you say, attempting to break the tension. “Where are we going?” 

Shoto looks back at you, confused. “Isn’t it obvious? We’re going to my dorm room.”

“Oh.” You pause. “Wouldn’t that be a bit inappropriate? Like, what if someone catches us kissing in your dorm room? Won’t we get in trouble?”

“I’ll lock the door.” He says sensibly. “It’s no one’s business but ours.”

“Huh.”

“Oh – I think I understand what you’re getting at.” He runs a hand through his hair reflexively. “It’s no wonder you’re one of the top members of the class. A good hero always has a strategy. So we should come up with an alibi.” He brings his thumb to his chin as he stares into space, pondering.

“If someone catches us, I can say that I experimentally froze my lips with my power and that I asked you to help me warm them up. Naturally, the best way to do so was with your lips.” He turns to you expectantly to gauge your reaction.

What the actual hell, Shoto.                                                          

“You’re um…you’re fucking with me, right?” You look at him uncertainly. Shoto’s unusually harsh upbringing has caused him to be shockingly literal at times. Your eyes scan his face until the corner of his mouth quirks upwards into a small smile.

“Yes, I am.”

You burst out laughing at the unexpected joke, and his tiny smile grows into a full grin. He likes making you laugh.

“Listen…” He says reassuringly, “No one is going to bother us – it’s such a nice day. I overheard some of the girls saying they were going to take pictures near the campus cherry blossom trees. They roped Midoriya, Ida and a few other classmates into the activity as well. Bakugo, Kirishima and Sero are all training across campus in the gym. We should have at least an hour or two before anyone comes seriously looking for us.”

Wow. That must be the longest group of sentences he’s ever said to you directly.

“You’ve really thought this through.” You say, following him across the threshold of Class 1A’s dorm complex.

He smirks. “I’m strategic.”

You look at him appraisingly. He looks clean and trim in his tailored UA uniform. Aside from the scar surrounding his eye, he has the most perfect skin of anyone in your class. While the rest of your classmates have been stressing about moisturizer and SPF and acne treatments, you’ve watched Shoto sail through his hormonal teens without a skincare care in the world. The skin of his cheeks is the color of porcelain and looks so, so soft and deliciously kissable. His face holds a mixture of determination and apprehension.

You enter the kitchen and common room area of your dorm and see that it’s completely, blessedly empty - odd for a Saturday. Shoto is right - it is one of the first nice spring days on campus. You assume everyone is out enjoying the nice weather as he said. This is a good thing – it means your clandestine meeting with Shoto can stay secret. Everyone in Class 1A can be so nosy sometimes. You’re determined to keep this juicy little secret between the two of you.

He leads you up towards one of the hallways that encompasses the boy’s dorms, pausing in front of his door to fiddle with his key. His usually steady hands are shaking a bit as he turns the lock and pushes open the door to reveal his immaculately clean bedroom with it’s traditional Japanese décor.

You step inside and slide off your shoes, letting your bag drop to the floor.

“I forgot how traditional your space is, Shoto.”

He closes the door behind you and clicks the lock into place before discarding his keys on his desktop. He looks around the dorm room thoughtfully.

“It’s how I grew up. I never really had the chance to develop my own taste or style.”

“Maybe now that you have your own space, you finally can!” You say enthusiastically. “If you’d ever like to go shopping or want help putting together a Pinterest board, Mina and I can definitely help you find some inspiration.”

His flat line of a mouth quirks up into another small smile. “I haven’t really had the time to think about anything other than school work and the L.o.V. since we moved into the dorms. Maybe you’re right – this could be an opportunity to broaden my horizons. See what I like.”

“Yeah! There are so many fun ways you can bring more of yourself into this space. We can start with a throw pillow.” You say knowledgably, pulling up the Pinterest app on your phone. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue.”

You type the color into the search bar, and immediately the screen is flooded with hundreds of different shades of blue throw pillows – all kinds of patterns and sayings and beading and embroidery. You hand him your phone and encourage him to scroll through the options.

“I’m sure we can find something that makes you feel like you.”

His eyes soften a bit as he takes the phone from you, intrigued. He scrolls through the colorful images, overwhelmed by the options. After a few minutes of careful deliberation, he finally stops and double taps a picture, hyperlinking to a website.

“This. This feels like it could be me.” He sends himself the link so he can purchase the pillow later. He hands back your phone and you take a curious look – the image he’s drawn to is a long rectangle of fabric shaped like a whale. It has navy blue stripes along with a small curved tale and button eyes sewn on. You look up and see that the tips of Shoto’s ears are bright red.

“This isn’t what I was expecting – but I see now that it suits you perfectly.” You say, picturing the whale pillow in his room – a dash of whimsy against the otherwise stuffy outdated décor.  He practically glows at the compliment. You realize that this is likely one of the first times someone is validating a choice he has made for himself. You cough and toss your phone into your discarded bag – the moment feels oddly intimate.

Shoto’s eyes scan across your face and he speaks his next words slowly, almost deliberately. “This is what I’ve always liked about you, y/n. You always seem to know what to say to get someone to smile or to open up. Admirable traits in a future hero.” You feel your own face heating up at the sweet compliment. Shoto has never given you so much direct attention outside of class, and it’s exciting and almost unnerving to have those two intense eyes focused in entirely on you.

“Thank you Shoto, that’s a very kind thing to say.” You suddenly realize how very close Shoto’s face is to your own. He’s only a few breaths away. Shoto is a few inches taller than you, so you need to crane your neck in order to get the full picture of his beautiful face. You wonder nervously if he expects you to initiate – should you reach out and grab his face? Your heart starts beating much too fast and you see his intense eyes dart down to your lips, wanting. You take a step closer to him, leaning up to meet his face, and…

“Let’s get started.” He says abruptly, breaking the moment. He walks over to his closet and pulls out his bedroll, hastily moving to set up his sleeping space so that you’ll have a comfortable place to sit. Once he sets up the space, he takes a seat on the soft mattress and motions for you to join him. This wasn’t really what you were expecting, but you remember that Shoto is pretty sheltered. He clearly has a plan in mind here, so you decide to let him take the lead.

“Alright, before we start – I just want you to know that we can stop at any point you’d like. I want you to be comfortable here, so please let me know if at any time you feel like you don’t want to continue. Ok?”

You nod, appreciating the dialogue and Shoto’s forethought surrounding consent.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Leaning his head back, he exhales slowly through his nostrils. After a moment of deep breathing, his eyes flutter open. “It’s an exercise my father taught me for clearing my nerves before a battle.” He explains as he runs a nervous hand through his two-toned hair.

“Are you anticipating a battle here?” You tease, reaching over to place your hand on his thigh. Shoto eyes the hand curiously before matching your gaze.

“Of course not. But surprisingly – I have the same feeling of anxiety now that I usually have right before a sparring match.” His expression is stone cold serious, not even the hint of a joke this time.

“I understand that. It’s nerve wracking to kiss a person for the first time.” You quickly double back on your words. “N-not that I’m implying that this is your first kiss or anything, I-”

Shoto blinks. “Oh – this is my first kiss. I thought it was fairly obvious.”

“Oh! Oh, Todoroki – I didn’t realize!” You trip over your words a bit and it brings out a soft smile in Shoto.

“I think that’s why I’ve been so distracted lately. Once I know how it feels, maybe then I can move on and focus back on my training and studies. Is this not your first kiss?” He tilts his head to the side, questioning. You see no hint of jealousy in his eyes – he’s legitimately curious.

“N-no. I’ve kissed a few people before. Never anything serious! Just here and there at summer camp.” You smile weakly, face burning. Shoto nods appreciatively at your candid answer.

“That makes sense – you’re very competent at everything you do. And very attractive.” This last part brings a blush across Shoto’s pale cheeks. “I had assumed there were plenty of people who have wanted to be kissed by you.” The compliment is unexpected and it makes a laugh bubble up your throat. You start giggling and Shoto seems taken by surprise.

“Did I say something funny?”

“No – no! You’re just so sincere and sweet and I am so nervous right now. Shoto you’re competent and attractive, too. I hope that you know that!” This brings his smile back out again, like the sunshine after a long rainstorm.

“Why don’t we just get it over with, then? I’ve read a few articles and studied some movies and…well, I think I’m as prepared as I can be.” Shoto’s face is so open and earnest your heart squeezes in your chest. He studied for this??

Slowly, carefully, Shoto reaches out a delicate hand to cradle the side of your face. He scoots somewhat awkwardly closer to you, but the rest of his movements hold his typical grace. He leans forward, eyes half closed, and brings his lips to your own.

You dip your head to receive the kiss, and you feel his soft lips melt against yours. You close your eyes and revel in the feeling of his mouth. Everything about him is soft and electric at the same time – the points where your bodies are connected feel charged with some kind of buzzing energy that leaves your breathless. And just as soon as it’s begun – it’s over. A brief peck, a stolen moment in time. Shoto pulls away from you, eyes wide, as he catches his breath.

“So?” You ask, trying for nonchalance but failing when you realize your voice is just a hoarse whisper. “What did you think?”

“It’s…” Shoto looks at you thoughtfully, touching his fingers to his tingling lips. “It wasn’t what I was expecting. I just feel like I want to do it more – like I need to keep going.”

You laugh – “Did you really think you’d want to stop after your first kiss?” Shoto shrugs, unwilling to answer the question.

“Can we kiss again? Please. If you’d like to, that is?” He asks, and you note the want in his voice. You’ve never heard Shoto Todoroki sound desperate for anything in his life before this moment. You’re surprised at how he sounds fairly desperate for you.

You smile at him and lean in close, bringing your foreheads together. You can feel different temperatures playing across his skin as he works to keep his quirk in check as excitement roars across his body.

“Follow my lead, lover-boy.” You whisper, before crashing your lips together. You move at a faster pace this time, showing him how to slide his mouth against yours to have a proper make out. He picks it up quickly and absolutely relishes in it. His eyes are closed and his hands find either side of your face again. You let him hold you like that for a few minutes before you decide to take the reigns a bit more. You reach out to place a hand on his chest and softly push him away from you.

“Here – this will make things a lot easier.” You stand up and move to straddle him, slowly sliding into his lap and wrapping your legs around his back. You place his hands on your waist and wind your arms around his neck. “Comfortable?” He nods, his eyes blown wide and almost glassy with lust.

“This is okay?” He asks, looking down at the way his hands grip your hips.

“Absolutely. You’re going to want them there for leverage.”

“Leverage?” He asks weakly, his eyes trained on your lips.

“You’ll see.” You smile deviously as you take in how absolutely undone Shoto looks. “Okay, next step – have you done any research on French kissing?”

Shoto nods again, looking a bit uncertain. “I watched a romantic comedy online and at the end the main couple kissed that way.”

“Well it’s super easy – I’ll walk you through it.” You tilt your head towards his and melt your lips back together, starting out with a slow and soft kiss. As he begins to get comfortable with the pace of your kissing, you move to deepen it – running the tip of your tongue across his lips. He naturally opens his mouth to you, and you move so that your tongues meet. You guide him into a light dance, your kisses becoming more frantic as your mouths and tongues collide. This brings out a ferocity in Shoto that you hadn’t expected, and you feel his hands grip your hips with almost bruising force. You groan, turned on by the contact. You automatically rock your hips into his and he stills at the motion. You blush as you realize that you can feel Shoto’s dick becoming hard beneath you. Shit.

His hands fly off of your hips and he sits back, mortified.

“I’m so sorry-” you start to say as he runs his hand anxiously through his hair again. Shoto takes a deep breath and looks at you, eyes still fuzzy.

“Don’t be sorry! That was amazing, I just…didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He looks down between you pointedly. He doesn’t want you to get freaked out by the fact that he’s got a boner.

“Oh I’m not uncomfortable at all! Actually, quite the opposite.” This answer makes Shoto’s sculpted eyebrows fly up into his hair.

“Really?” He whispers.

“Yeah. It’s actually really hot.” You reach down and take his hands in yours, moving them back to your hips. You make piercing eye contact with Shoto as you roll your hips experimentally again – feeling his hardness even through your clothes. He groans at the contact this time, a soft sound that is just: So. Goddamn. Hot.

You grind against him again, picking up a steady rhythm as Shoto enthusiastically moves your hips. Struck by sudden inspiration, you lean forward to kiss a sloppy line up his neck. This draws a moan from Shoto that you weren’t expecting – low and sweet. You smile as you continue to kiss his neck, using your tongue when you find a particularly sensitive spot beneath his ear.

Shoto grabs your face with one hand and tilts your head up before crashing his lips back into yours. His kisses are heated and passionate as he bounces you on his lap, making you both see stars. You’re so wet you can feel yourself soaking through your panties. You pray that your school uniform pants won’t get damp beneath you – how embarrassing would that be?! At the same time - you don’t give a damn; Shoto’s mouth and his hands and his dick feel far too good. At the moment kissing Shoto Todoroki feels like the only thing you were put on this goddamn earth to do.

Tentatively, you feel Shoto’s hands wander up from your hips. You moan into his mouth as his hands find your breasts. “How is this?” He whispers hoarsely, running delicate fingertips across the peaks of your breasts. “Is this okay? I can stop if you want me to.” You moan your consent enthusiastically, and when he begins to softly knead your boobs over your shirt, your hormones fully take the wheel.

You hop off your classmate so you can quickly unbutton your shirt – your tie flying off as you work. Shoto remains sitting on the floor and does the same with his own uniform. In a moment he is sitting shirtless and beautiful before you, chest heaving as he works to catch his breath. He stares at you with bright eyes as you stand above him in nothing but a bra and UA’s uniform slacks. He has never seen a woman with so little clothing on before, and he is in awe.

You kneel down beside him on the bedroll and reach out to touch his perfect body. Your hand hovers above his perfectly sculpted abs and you look up at him, eyes asking permission. He nods, giving you his blessing to touch. You smooth your fingertips lightly across the defined planes of his chest and abs, marveling in all that he is. Your palm comes to rest against his chest and you feel his heartbeat – a quick staccato beneath your delicate hand. You push him lightly so that he moves to lie on the ground before you.

“You alright with all this?” You whisper, moving slowly to straddle him on the ground.

“If I get to have you on top of me again – absolutely.” And he grins – a genuine smile that radiates comfort. You’ve never seen a look like that before on Shoto’s face and it stops you in your tracks. You just want to bask in the glow of the rare gift of his beaming face.

After a moment, you collect yourself and move so that you’re on all fours and hovering over him. You shiver – you’ve never been so close to someone in this way before. He seems to notice your hesitation.

“You look cold – do you want to grab a blanket?” He reaches up and runs his hands up and down your arms, giving you more goose bumps. You nod, and he reaches to grab a thick grey knit blanket that’s folded neatly to your left. He pulls you down to lay on top of him and easily casts the blanked across your intertwined bodies. The knit feels luxurious and expensive – and it smells deliciously like Shoto. A scent that’s a mixture of sandalwood and fresh sheets wafts around you. It’s comfortable and warm and you feel so, so happy to be sharing this moment with Shoto.

He wraps his arms around you and feels himself get hard again at the delicate feeling of your bare skin against his own. He pulls you in for a kiss – and this time the passion is slow, sensual. You’ve never kissed someone like this before – like you have all the time in the world. He moves his hands up and down your bare back beneath the blanket – warming you up. He’s keeping his ice quirk at bay – both of his hands are the perfect temperature as they run across your soft, supple skin. His hands come to rest on your lower back as he moves to experimentally kiss down your collarbone.

“Oh! Oh, Shoto, yes.” Is all you can say. The use of his given name seems to turn him on even more, because his kisses become sloppier and he runs the edge of his teeth against your skin. He continues to kiss down your shoulder, pausing for only a moment in order to roll you both over so that he can have a turn on top. You gasp at the sudden movement – the dynamics have unexpectedly shifted and Shoto is in total control.

He gazes down at you, shifting the blanket so that it doesn’t get tangled between your bodies.

“You’re so beautiful.” He says, a note of wonder in his voice. “Your skin is so soft…I never realized how great it would be to touch you.” He runs a light fingertip across the delicate skin of your neck and across the expanse of your collarbone. He watches as he runs his finger down the slope of one of your breasts, stopping when he meets the soft cotton of your bra.

“Can we take this off?” He whispers, moving to palm your breast over the delicate white material. You nod, and prop yourself up so you can reach behind yourself to unclip the clothing. With a light “pop!” the bra clip comes undone and Shoto helps you discard the item. He takes in your breasts with a look of absolute amazement and cautiously reaches out to touch them. He gently runs the palm of his hand across your right breast experimentally. You gasp at the contact, and he nervously glances at your face to make sure you’re not in any discomfort. You smile at him, encouraging him to keep going. He kneads the breast in his strong hand a few times before experimentally rolling his thumb over your nipple. You gasp at the contact as pleasure surges through you – you had no idea you were so sensitive. Shoto repeats the motion, earning a soft moan. He smiles at the praise – unexpectedly mischievous as he moves so that he’s kneeling over you, able to tackle a breast with each hand. He goes to work pinching and massaging and rolling your breasts between deft fingers, drawing the sweetest sounds from your mouth.

“Shoto!” You cry out as he moves to spread more kisses across your neck as his left hand plays with one of your breasts. You reach down and squeeze the muscular plane of his ass, begging him to grind into you. He gets the message loud and clear – moving against you gently so that you can feel his hardness graze against you.

He’s causing so many delicious sensations across your body with his lips, hands, hips, groin – it’s almost too much. You feel like you might drown in him when suddenly –

A knock on the door causes you both to still.

“Todoroki?” Mr. Aizawa’s voice is muffled behind the door. You’re both rigid with fear. Shoto’s lips are at your neck and his breath tickles your bare skin. Your fist is tightly squeezed around his left ass cheek. You stare at the ceiling as you start to panic, wondering wildly what you’re supposed to do in this situation. Oh shit oh shit oh shit.

Mr. Aizawa knocks on the door again. “Todoroki – your father is here to see you.”

“My father?!” Shoto blurts out before he can stop himself. He scrambles off of you and looks around in a panic. “Why’s my father here?”

The walls seem to be thinner than you thought, because Mr. Aizawa supplies an answer from the other side of the locked door.

“Endeavor had a press conference at a hotel down the road this morning. He wanted to check in and discuss internships. I left him waiting in the common area. I’ll be in my office if you want to grab any internship paperwork while he’s here. I wouldn’t keep him waiting, kid.”

“Of course – thank you Mr. Aizawa!” Todoroki calls through the door awkwardly, listening as your teacher’s footsteps recede into the distance.

You and Shoto stare at each other in absolute horror.

“Do you think he heard us? Do you think h-he knows?” You whisper, panic lacing your voice.

Shoto shakes his head no as he gathers up his shirt and shakily tries to re-button it. “No – I don’t think he was out there long enough to hear anything incriminating.”

You let out a breath of anxious air, reaching for your discarded bra. “Thank goodness.” You re-clip your bra and shrug on your shirt.

“Endeavor is here?” You eye Shoto with concern as he dawns his tie and straightens his hair in a wall mirror on the back of his door.

“My old man likes to pop up at inconvenient times.” Content with his hair, he looks down at you. You’ve started to fold up his blanked and bedroll, patting down your own hair along the way.

“We should probably talk about what just happened…” He starts to say, but you shush him as you hear heavy footsteps coming from down the hall.

“Shoto!” A booming voice rings through the hallway, sending shivers up your spine. The heavy footsteps come to a stop right outside Shoto’s dorm door. The doorknob rattles as someone tries the lock. “How dare you keep me waiting!”

“I’ll be out in a minute, old man!” Shoto calls back bitingly. He glares at the door, thankful for the meager lock. He turns to look at you, and his eyes fill with panic. You scan the room for a place to hide – there is absolutely nowhere to conceal yourself in Shoto’s sparse, plain room.

Suddenly, you’re struck with inspiration – you point to the window. Shoto nods in agreement, dashing to grab your things from where they lay abandoned at the threshold of the door.

Quietly, you pad over to the window and pull back the curtains by a foot. You unlatch the window and slide it softly open before hoisting yourself into the wide window frame. It’s lucky you’re not afraid of heights – because Todoroki’s room is on the fifth floor. There is a small escape ladder for fire emergencies (you smile at the irony of Endeavor being the fire emergency in this case). You move to settle your feet on the top rung of the ladder, with plans to climb your way back to the ground so you can re-enter the dorm building from the back.

Shoto leans out the window and hangs your messenger bag around your shoulder.

“Find me later so we can discuss this.” He says, looking apprehensively over his shoulder as his father continues to bang on the door and callout his name. “I’m sorry this ended with you having to sneak out the window like some sort of criminal.”

“Ah, it’s no big deal! Makes it more exciting.” You grin and he smiles back. He leans forward and presses a small kiss to the corner of your mouth before moving back to close the window.

As he slides the glass closed, he says to you “I don’t think this is going to help me refocus. If anything, I’m more distracted than ever.” You give him a wink as he shuts the window soundly, drawing the curtains to cover your escape.

Hastily, you climb down 5 stories worth of thin metal ladder, landing gracefully in the soft spring grass. You walk to the dorm’s back entrance and let yourself in, walking past the laundry room and up towards the common area. Mina waves at you as she tosses some clothes into the washing machine, and you say a silent prayer thanking the powers that be that none of your friends had come looking for you while you spent your blissful hour hidden away, half-naked and moaning, in Shoto Todoroki’s room.

You climb the stairs two at a time until you hear the voice of the Number 2 Hero grumbling in the common area. Curious, you peak around the corner to see Shoto and his father seated on one of the couches, sorting through paperwork. Shoto has a dead look behind his eyes as his father lectured him about the importance of networking. He nods blankly a few times before his eyes catch sight of your small frame hiding around the corner. His entire face softens at the sight of you. Endeavor notices and turns to see what’s captured his son’s attention.

“You there! Are you a member of Class 1A?” He booms out, almost polite in his delivery. You walk out into the room, drawing yourself up to your full height.

“Dad – this is my classmate Y/N. She lives on the girl’s side of the dorm. Her quirk is extremely powerful.”

“It’s nice to meet you Mr. Endeavor.” You say, trying not to blush at Shoto’s compliment. Endeavor waves you off with a fiery hand.

“Ah, that’s right. I recognize you from the Sport’s Festival. Your quirk and fighting style were both quite impressive.” He looks at you appraisingly. “Are you a close friend of Shoto’s?” 

“She is.” Shoto answers smoothly. “Actually, she’s been tutoring me a bit lately on some techniques I’m not familiar with. She’s a greatteacher.” The subtext is not lost on you.

“Surely you don’t need help in your studies, Shoto. You’re at the top of your class.” Endeavor says gruffly, looking to his son for further explanation.

“Just showing him a few moves I picked up in one of my martial arts classes, sir! Shoto picks up new techniques like a Pro.”

Endeavor seems mollified by this answer. “Of course he does. He’s on track to become the best of the best.” The hero claps his hand on Shoto’s shoulder proudly, and you smile weakly at the discomfort that flashes across Shoto’s eyes.

“Well – I’ll let you both get back to your work! Shoto – if you want to practice those techniques again later, I’ll be in the library until 8 tonight.”

You see Shoto ever so slightly lick his bottom lip. His face is tinged with the lightest of blushes.

“Got it. I’ll see you there, Y/N.”

You have a feeling that Shoto isn’t going to be able to focus on his studies for quite some time.

----------------------------------

Here are all the currently released chapters of Shoto's First Kiss!

Shoto's First Kiss Series:

Part 1: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋

Part 2: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 2

Part 3: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 3

Part 4: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 4

Part 5: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 5

Part 6: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 6

🔥 Link to My Master List 🔥

[lupinqs]

SAFE AND SOUND (1/3) ━━ pazzi

☆ ━ summary: in which azzi fudd forms an unexpected alliance with paige bueckers as they fight for survival in the hunger games.

☆ ━ word count: 10.1K

☆ ━ warnings: nothing yet really, should all be in the next chapter lol

☆ ━ links: part two, part three, my masterlist, ao3 link

☆ ━ author’s note: if i had a nickel for every time i wrote one of my ships going to the hunger games together, i’d have two nickels. which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice 🧐 obviously this is a hunger games au so if you haven’t read the book or seen the movie or are not familiar with the premise, i don’t know how well you’ll be able to understand. alsoooo this part is lowkey very much buildup and not actual pazzi just mostly azzi; it was meant to be one whole part but it would’ve been too damn long so i split it!

“AZZI FUDD.”

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, everything stops. The world around her seems to freeze in time. Lucia Bliss, the escort from District Nine, says the name with a certain flair, her voice high-pitched and breathy, as if this is a celebration instead of a death sentence. Lucia’s purple hair gleams under the harsh midday sun, her too-bright smile a sick contrast to the crowd’s silence.

Azzi stands rooted to the ground. Her heart slams in her chest, and her vision narrows as shock seeps through her bones. She can’t move, can’t breathe. Her body is disconnected from her mind, numbness spreading through her limbs. She vaguely registers the weight of the stares from the girls around her—some wide-eyed with horror, others carefully blank. Azzi blinks. Is this real? She swallows hard, but her throat feels like sandpaper.

She never let herself think about this. Never allowed the possibility to take root. She spent the whole week worrying about her little brothers, Jon and Jose, her anxiety circling around them like a storm cloud. Jose, especially. It’s his first Reaping, and he’d been so scared he couldn’t sleep the night before. Azzi had promised him it’d be okay, that the odds were in their favor. She’d lied. And now it’s her name that hangs in the air.

Her legs feel heavy, like they’ve been weighed down with stones, but somehow, she forces them to move. One step. Then another. Each movement is stiff, mechanical, her body obeying while her mind is still reeling. The faces in the crowd blur into a mass of pale colors, and Azzi avoids looking at any of them directly. The sun presses down on her back, making her skin feel tight, suffocating, but she barely registers it. Her heartbeat thuds in her ears, a dull roar that drowns out everything else.

I have to do this. She repeats it in her head, over and over, as if it will numb the panic creeping up her spine. I have to get up there.

The platform is higher than it looks. It looms above her as she approaches, and the closer she gets, the more she feels the weight of the district watching her. Her hands tremble at her sides, but she keeps them balled into fists, her nails digging into her palms. She can’t afford to show fear. Not now.

She steps onto the stage, the wooden floor creaking beneath her shoes. Lucia Bliss beams at her, all synthetic kindness and hollow enthusiasm, like she’s completely oblivious to the fact that she’s sending a sixteen-year-old girl to her death. Azzi wants to scream, to shout at her, to demand to know how she can smile like that. Instead, she stands there, stiff as a board, staring blankly into the crowd.

She doesn’t look at her family. Not yet. If she lets herself see them—really see them—she knows she’ll fall apart. And she can’t afford to break down, not in front of everyone. Not here. The numbness is the only thing keeping her from collapsing.

“Now, for the boys!” Lucia announces, with that same bright cheeriness, like this is all just a grand spectacle and not a nightmare come to life.

The second name is pulled, and Azzi barely registers the sound of the boy’s name. “Kellan Ryder.”

Her eyes catch a glimpse of him as he stumbles forward—a scrawny boy with messy red hair and too-thin arms. He looks no older than fourteen, maybe fifteen at most. His face is pale, his mouth set in a tight line as he walks toward the platform like a condemned man heading to the gallows. There’s no strength in him, no fire. He’s shaking like a leaf, and Azzi knows his fate immediately. Anyone with a brain should. He won’t make it.

Kellan’s knees wobble as he climbs onto the platform, nearly tripping on the last step. His frightened eyes dart around, but when they meet Azzi’s for a fleeting moment, she sees it—the absolute terror, the resignation that’s already settled in him. He knows he’s dead. And now, she’s tethered to him.

Lucia claps her hands together, looking as if she expects the crowd to erupt into applause, but no one moves. District Nine never claps at the Reaping. There’s nothing to celebrate here.

Azzi’s jaw tightens, her hands still clenched at her sides. What now? What happens next? She can’t feel anything except a dull, creeping fear gnawing at the edges of her consciousness. It’s been less than five minutes since her name was called, but it feels like an eternity has passed. She feels lost, unmoored, floating in a space where time no longer makes sense.

As the anthem blares across the square, she chances a glance into the crowd—just for a second. Her gaze locks onto her family. Her mom is there, her face pale but strong. Azzi’s dad stands right next to her, an arm around her waist. They wear the same firm expressions—like they may actually believe their daughter can make it through this. Azzi can’t find Jon and Jose—they’re somewhere within the rest of the relieved crowd of boys who have been spared this year.

Lucia is speaking again, but Azzi barely hears her. The words are muffled, distant, as she’s ushered off the stage and into the cold interior of the Justice Building. Her chest feels tight, her throat burning from holding back everything that’s clawing at her insides, threatening to break free. She can’t let them see her cry.

Inside the Justice Building, it’s quieter, but the silence only makes her pulse race faster. She’s taken to a small room to wait. The goodbyes. They give her only a few minutes with her family before she’s whisked away forever.

Her mother is the first to come in, and the second the door closes behind her, the stoic mask she’s been holding up crumbles. She rushes forward and pulls Azzi into a bone-crushing hug. Katie Fudd does not shed any tears, but Azzi can feel her shaking against her shoulder. Trembling, but trying to fight it.

“You’re going to come back,” her mother says firmly, as if she’s manifesting it into existence. And then, more choked: “Please, Azzi. You have to come back.”

Azzi stands stiffly for a moment, then wraps her arms around her mother. She wants to promise that she’ll come back, that she’ll survive, but the words stick in her throat. How can she make a promise like that when she doesn’t know if she can keep it?

“I’ll try,” Azzi says instead, her voice hollow. I’ll try. It’s all she can offer.

Her brothers come in next, Jon leading Jose. The second Jose sees her, he runs to her, clinging to her waist like he’s afraid she’ll disappear if he lets go. His face is streaked with tears, his breath coming in ragged sobs.

“You’re gonna come back, right?” Jose’s voice is small, broken. Azzi’s reminded that he’s only twelve. “You have to come back.”

Azzi pulls away slightly, brushing the hair out of his face. “I’ll do my best,” she whispers, her voice trembling. She can’t say anything more than that. She wishes she could lie, give him something more hopeful, but the truth is all she has.

Jon is much quieter, and he stands back, his face hard as stone. But his eyes—his eyes are full of pain, full of everything he’s trying not to feel. When he finally steps forward, he pulls her into a tight hug, whispering in her ear, “Please try to come home.”

Azzi nods, her throat too tight to respond.

And then it’s her dad that gets her last, his arms wrapping around her softer, less firm. He rubs a hand along her back, rests his chin on top of her head. It makes Azzi want to cry. But she doesn’t. She keeps the tears in. Tim tells her, “Be smart. Don’t trust anyone.” And then he pulls away, meeting her gaze. His eyes aren’t sad, they don’t memorize the lines of her face as if this is likely the last time they’ll ever see each other. Instead, they’re firm, a fire burning in them, a fire that believes Azzi has enough spark in her to win. “You’re strong, Az. You find what you’re good at, and you stick to it. Just like shooting.”

Azzi nods, though his words don’t truly reach her. She’s good at basketball—great, even. The best shooter in her district. But the Hunger Games isn’t basketball. It’s entirely different.

The goodbye is over too quickly, the Peacekeepers ushering her family out of the room, their voices echoing down the hall. As the door closes behind them, the reality of the situation hits her with full force. This is happening. This is real. There’s no way out of it. In just a few days, she’ll be in the arena, and all that will matter is survival.

Azzi takes a deep breath, her hands trembling. She has to survive. For her family. For her mom. For her dad. For Jon and Jose. I have to win.

But as the cold emptiness settles into her chest, she knows it’s not going to be that simple. Not even close.

THE ROOM in the Capitol’s Remake Center is pristine and clinical—too clean, in fact. The walls are bright white, and the overhead lights are too harsh, casting everything in an almost sterile glow. The faint hum of machinery buzzes in the background, and Azzi sits stiffly on the plush chair in the center of the room, her back straight and hands clenched in her lap. She can feel the cold, unfamiliar air of the Capitol against her skin, a far cry from the familiar, earthy smells of District Nine. The whole place feels wrong.

Azzi’s mind is still spinning from the events of the past day, from the Reaping to the train ride to the Capitol. Everything feels like a blur—one unending nightmare she can’t escape from. The vibrant, colorful city that’s supposed to be awe-inspiring feels nothing more than a glittering cage, trapping her in a world that doesn’t belong to her.

A knock at the door startles her from her thoughts, and she straightens, her heart thudding a little harder in her chest. The door opens, and in walks a tall, slender woman with dark, shimmering hair cut into a sleek bob. Her skin is flawless, glowing in the artificial light, and she’s dressed in an outfit that’s both futuristic and elegant, all smooth lines and shimmering fabric.

She strides into the room with the kind of confidence Azzi has only ever seen in Capitol citizens, her heels clicking against the floor. When she reaches Azzi, she extends a perfectly manicured hand and offers a soft, warm smile.

“Hello, Azzi. I’m Seraphine,” she says, her voice gentle, as though she knows how jarring this experience must be. “I’ll be your stylist for the Games.”

Azzi stares at Seraphine’s hand for a second too long before realizing she’s supposed to shake it. Her fingers feel cold as she grips the stylist’s hand briefly, then pulls away, her eyes flickering nervously to the floor. She hasn’t said a word since entering the Remake Center, and even now, her throat feels tight, like it’s closed off from the weight of everything around her.

Seraphine seems to notice Azzi’s discomfort and doesn’t push her to speak. Instead, she walks around the chair, studying Azzi with a critical yet kind eye, taking in her features as if she’s a sculpture being examined for the first time.

“You’ve got very strong features,” Seraphine says, her voice soft as she moves to stand in front of Azzi. She lifts a hand, her finger tracing the air just in front of Azzi’s face as if imagining her canvas. “A really beautiful face. Great symmetry. Your nose is perfect—straight, but with just a little softness at the tip. And your lips,” she smiles, “plump and well-shaped, the kind people pay for here in the Capitol.”

Azzi doesn’t know what to say. She swallows hard and forces out a quiet, “Thank you.”

But the words feel hollow in her mouth. Two days ago, she probably would’ve flushed at the compliment and grinned at the woman before her. But it doesn’t matter now. Being beautiful won’t keep her alive. It won’t stop a sword or a spear. It won’t protect her when she’s standing in the arena, staring down a tribute who wants her dead. She doesn’t care about her looks. She cares about surviving.

Seraphine seems to sense the tension in her, but she doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she steps back and claps her hands together, her expression shifting into something more professional. “Well, we’ve got a lot to do before the Opening Ceremony tonight. The tributes from District Nine usually get an agricultural theme, but we’re going to make sure you stand out. You’ll need something that catches the eye, something that makes people remember you. The Capitol loves a good first impression.”

Azzi tries to focus on what Seraphine is saying, but her mind keeps drifting, her thoughts pulling her back to District Nine, to the faces of her brothers, her parents, their small home nestled in the farthest corner of the district. She feels like she’s been dropped into an alien world, surrounded by people who don’t understand what it means to fight for survival. Here, everything is about image—how you look, how you present yourself. But in the Games, none of that matters. At least, not to Azzi.

Seraphine motions for Azzi to stand, and she does so stiffly, her muscles aching from sitting so rigidly for so long. The stylist begins to circle her, appraising her figure and murmuring to herself. After a few moments of quiet contemplation, Seraphine snaps her fingers, and a team of assistants rushes in, carrying bolts of fabric and strange devices Azzi doesn’t recognize.

Seraphine smiles softly, her fingers brushing against Azzi’s shoulder. “We’re going to make you look incredible. Trust me, Azzi. I’ve been doing this for years.”

Azzi doesn’t respond. She lets the team of assistants work on her, trying not to flinch as they run strange tools across her skin, smoothing it, shaping it. They tug at her hair, pulling it back tightly from her face, and apply makeup to her cheeks and eyes. She’s never worn anything like this before, and the sensation of it all feels foreign, uncomfortable. The air smells heavily of perfume and hair products, nothing like the open fields and fresh earth of her home.

Seraphine watches closely, making small adjustments as the assistants work. “We’ll keep it simple but striking,” she says as she examines the fabrics. “District Nine is about agriculture, the backbone of Panem’s food production. So we’ll lean into that, but in a way that makes you look powerful. Strong. Like someone the Capitol will want to root for.”

Azzi barely nods, her mind half-absent.

The assistants pull out a long, flowing piece of fabric, the color a rich golden hue that shimmers in the light. It’s embroidered with intricate patterns, resembling the fields of grain District Nine is known for. The material clings to her body, forming into a fitted jumpsuit that accentuates her athletic build. The design is sleek and modern, with a slight flare at the shoulders, giving her the appearance of strength, while the fabric flows behind her like a cape made of golden wheat.

Seraphine steps back, admiring the final look, her lips curling into a satisfied smile. “You look incredible, Azzi. Absolutely stunning. This will make the audience remember you—beautiful, but more importantly, formidable.”

Azzi stares at herself in the mirror, her reflection almost unrecognizable. The girl looking back at her is a Capitol version of herself, someone polished and made to look like she belongs here. But Azzi can see right through it. She doesn’t belong here.

“How do you feel?” Seraphine asks, stepping up beside her.

Azzi hesitates, her eyes lingering on her reflection. She looks strong, she looks like someone people might fear. But the question gnaws at her, the same thought that’s been looping in her head since she arrived at the Capitol.

“Being beautiful won’t help me in the arena,” she says quietly, her voice low, as if the thought escapes her without permission.

Seraphine’s expression softens, and she places a hand gently on Azzi’s shoulder. “It’s not just about beauty. It’s about presence. The Capitol citizens, the sponsors—they want someone they can believe in. If they believe in you, they’ll help you. They’ll send you things you need. And that could be the difference between life and death.”

Azzi doesn’t know how to respond to that. She’s never thought about it that way—never considered that people watching her might care enough to help. She doesn’t know if she likes that idea, though. It feels too distant, too detached. How can she trust that some faceless audience in the Capitol will care enough to keep her alive?

But she nods anyway, her jaw tight as she looks back at her reflection. “I guess.”

Seraphine gives her a reassuring smile, but Azzi can see the flicker of something else in the stylist’s eyes. Maybe a recognition of the bleakness that comes with the Games. Or maybe just sympathy. Either way, it doesn’t change the reality.

And then Seraphine is clapping her hands again, signaling the rush of assistants and stylists bustling back into the room. They tidy up the last few details, adjusting the cape of shimmering gold fabric that flows behind Azzi, smoothing out any wrinkles in the intricate embroidery of her jumpsuit. The noise, the movement, all of it feels overwhelming, but Seraphine stays calm and poised, giving Azzi a reassuring smile before gesturing toward the door.

“Come, Azzi. We need to head downstairs. Your chariot awaits,” Seraphine says.

Azzi’s legs feel unsteady as she follows her stylist. There’s a gnawing anxiety low in her stomach, a knot that’s only been growing tighter since her name was pulled. She walks behind Seraphine, out of the room and down a long, marble hallway that echoes with the click of the stylist’s heels. The air feels heavier here, the anticipation hanging thick in the space around them as they make their way to the first floor.

The elevator doors open, revealing the Remake Center’s ground floor—a massive, gleaming stable. The smell of horses hits her first, a sharp contrast to the sterile air of the upper floors. The space is wide and open, filled with row after row of chariots, each one assigned to a different district, waiting to carry their tributes into the Opening Ceremony. It’s loud, too, with the sound of people bustling around, prepping the tributes, adjusting the horses’ harnesses, and giving last-minute instructions.

Azzi’s eyes dart around, searching for Kellan, her district partner. She spots him off to the side, standing next to one of the chariots, his eyes wide with fear and his shoulders hunched as if he’s trying to make himself as small as possible. He looks terrible, Azzi thinks, her heart twisting in her chest. Kellan is so young—fourteen—the same age as her little brother Jon.

In fact, Kellan could’ve been Jon. Could’ve been Jose. The thought makes her feel sick. He’s just a kid. And now he’s about to be thrown into a fight to the death.

Azzi’s stomach churns as she approaches Kellan, trying to think of something to say, something that might ease his nerves, but nothing comes to mind. What can she say? You’ll be fine? It won’t be that bad? It would be a lie. There’s no comforting truth here.

Lucia is already there, too, flitting around with her usual enthusiasm. Her bright purple wig bounces as she talks, gesturing wildly with her hands. She’s all Capitol—flashy and clueless, too caught up in the spectacle of it all to realize what’s really at stake.

“Ah, Azzi! You look fan-tastic!” Lucia exclaims, clucking her tongue and clapping her hands together. “Seraphine has really outdone herself this year.”

Azzi gives a stiff nod, but her attention is drawn to the figure standing next to Lucia.

Their mentor—Cyrus.

A tall, grizzled man in his mid-forties, Cyrus won the Games when he was seventeen, Azzi knows that. His hair is streaked with silver now, and his face is lined with years of bitterness and loss—an expression she’s come to recognize in former victors. Cyrus isn’t the warmest person, but he knows what it takes to survive, and that’s all that matters to Azzi now.

He steps forward, eyeing her and Kellan critically, his arms crossed over his broad chest. “You both look good,” he says, his voice gruff, as if the compliment costs him something. “But this isn’t about just looking good. It’s about making the Capitol love you. You need them on your side, or you’re dead in the water.”

Kellan swallows hard, his eyes darting nervously toward the chariots. Azzi can see his hands trembling slightly at his sides, and again, that pang of guilt hits her. He shouldn’t be here. He’s too young.

So is Azzi. So is every other tribute here.

Cyrus doesn’t seem to notice Kallan’s behavior—or if he does, he doesn’t care. He steps closer, his voice dropping into a low, urgent tone. “When you get out there, you smile. You wave. You make sure they see you, like you’re already a victor. The crowd loves confidence. They love tributes who look like they’ll win, not ones who are scared to death.” His eyes flick to Kellan, lingering for a second too long. “So you both smile. Got it?”

Azzi nods, even though the last thing she wants to do is smile right now. But Cyrus is right. They have to play the game, even here.

She turns her head slightly, trying to shake off the weight of the moment when something—or someone—catches her eye.

Just across the stable, standing next to another chariot with her district partner, is a girl. She’s tall for a girl, like Azzi is, with long blonde hair that’s been braided back into a bun. Her outfit is clearly themed around District Seven—lumber—and it’s made of rich brown leather, like freshly cut wood, with patterns that resemble tree bark. But what stands out most to Azzi isn’t the outfit. It’s her face.

The girl’s features are sharp but soft in all the right places. She has a defined jawline, high cheekbones, and a pair of piercing blue eyes that seem to flicker with something unspoken. She’s pretty—beautiful, even—but not in the overdone, Capitol way. There’s something natural about her beauty, something real.

Azzi’s breath catches in her throat as their eyes meet. For a moment, the noise of the stable fades into the background, and all she can hear is the pounding of her heart in her chest. The girl holds her gaze, her expression unreadable but intense, like she’s studying Azzi just as much as Azzi is studying her.

This girl is another tribute. Another person Azzi might have to kill. But the thought doesn’t stop her from staring a second too long, from letting herself get caught in the girl’s gaze.

It’s only when Cyrus barks something at them that Azzi snaps her head back around, her cheeks flushing as she tries to focus. This isn’t the time for distractions.

She forces her attention back to Cyrus as he continues giving them last-minute instructions. “Smile. Wave. Make them love you. Got it?”

Azzi nods, though her thoughts are still jumbled. She glances at Kellan, who’s biting his lip nervously, his eyes darting around the stable like a rabbit caught in a trap.

And then they’re being ushered toward their chariot. Azzi takes a deep breath, her legs feeling wobbly as she steps onto the platform, Kellan following behind her. The horses, sleek and muscular, are restless in front of them, their hooves clattering against the marble floor. She grips the edge of the chariot tightly, her knuckles turning white.

As the chariots begin to roll out, Azzi takes one more deep breath. She can hear the roar of the crowd growing louder, the excitement building as the tributes are about to make their grand entrance.

The moment they roll into view of the massive audience, the noise is deafening. The Capitol citizens cheer and shout, their brightly colored hair and outrageous outfits blending together into a sea of vibrant chaos. Azzi forces herself to smile, just like instructed, letting her dimples show through as she waves to the crowd, her arm moving mechanically as if on autopilot. She hates it—the way their eyes are all on her, the way they’re watching her as if she’s nothing more than a piece in their twisted game.

She’s never wanted attention like this. The only way she’d ever dreamed of being noticed was by playing basketball, maybe one day making it big enough to play in the Capitol’s professional leagues. But that was a stupid dream—something far out of reach for someone from a District. Even if she won the Games, even if she became a Capitol darling, she’d never be allowed to play. The basketball leagues are for Capitol citizens, not for tributes. Not for people like her.

Azzi keeps smiling, keeps waving, even though every second of it feels wrong. The crowd’s cheers grow louder, their excitement palpable, but Azzi feels nothing. All she can think about is the girl from District Seven—the girl whose eyes she can still feel on her, even now, as the chariots roll forward.

IT’S THE second day of training. Yesterday, Azzi found her strength—throwing knives. It was quick; the dagger was the first weapon she picked up and tried. And it just… worked. It surprised her at first, but as the blades left her hand, spinning in the air before sinking into the target with a solid thud, it felt almost familiar. The motion, the precision, the focus—it all reminds her of shooting a basketball. In her mind, it’s the same concept: aim, release, make the shot. Whether it’s a knife sinking into a dummy or a ball swooshing through a hoop, the goal is the same. And it comforts her in a strange way, turning something deadly into something she’s used to, something she can control.

Now, Azzi stands several feet away from a dummy, gripping a knife, the handle cool against her palm. She lines it up with the target. Her muscles tighten as she flicks her wrist, releasing the dagger. It slices through the air, embedding itself into where the heart of the dummy would be with a satisfying thud. A perfect hit. She lets out a slow breath, allowing a small flicker of satisfaction to cross her face. The trainers don’t miss it either, nodding with approval as they observe her from across the room.

Cyrus, her mentor, has been watching her closely since she got here. And, after Azzi informed him of her successes with the daggers last night and his compliments of her physique, the true muscle she has, it’s been clear he’s placing his bets on Azzi this time around. It seems there’s just no point in trying with Kellan.

As for Kellan, he hasn’t said much of anything since they were whisked away to the Capitol. He’s just a boy, and Azzi has watched the fear in his eyes grow with each passing day. Cyrus has tried to train him, to offer him advice, but Kellan’s barely even listened. It’s as if he’s already given up. Azzi sees it in the way his hands tremble whenever he holds a weapon, the way he flinches during combat drills, and the way he refuses to meet anyone’s gaze. He’s already dead in his mind, and Azzi knows that mentality will get him killed in the arena.

“Focus on yourself,” Cyrus had told her bluntly last night after dinner. “Kellan’s not gonna make it. You need to accept that now.”

Azzi had nodded, the truth of Cyrus’ words sitting like a heavy weight in her chest. She tried talking to Kellan once, offering him a few words of encouragement, but he barely even acknowledged her. After that, she stopped trying. She can’t afford to waste time or energy on someone who’s already checked out. It isn’t like she doesn’t feel guilty—she does—but she has to survive.

She can’t focus on anyone else’s survival but her own.

Today, Cyrus has her focusing on something other than knives. “You’ve got those down,” he’d told her before the session. “Learn how to survive the elements now. Plants, food, water. You need to know what’s safe and what isn’t. Most tributes die from hunger, dehydration—not all of it is blood and guts.”

So Azzi finds herself crouched in front of an information station, its holographic displays showing various plants, fruits, and fungi. She taps the screen, cycling through images of plants she might find in the arena, trying to commit them to memory. Which ones are edible, which ones are poisonous, which ones could be used to heal wounds. It’s not as exciting as knife-throwing, but it’s necessary, and she knows it.

She’s absorbed in her study, staring intently at a particularly nasty-looking mushroom, when she senses someone approaching from the side. Her muscles tense instinctively, and she glances up, prepared to brush off whoever it is—until she sees Paige Bueckers standing next to her.

Paige Bueckers. District Seven. Azzi knows who she is. She’s memorized all the tributes’ names and districts by now—it’s smart to know who she’s up against—but Paige was the first one she committed to memory. Maybe it’s because of the way Paige caught her eye before the opening ceremony, their silent exchange of glances lingering in Azzi’s mind longer than she’d like to admit. Or maybe it’s because she’s watched Paige train over the past two days and realized just how dangerous the girl really is. Azzi saw her with a sword earlier, moving with a deadly grace that sent chills down her spine. Paige might be one of the most skilled tributes here, and that’s saying something.

Paige is tall, even a little taller than Azzi, and her blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail, a thin, black headband resting over it. Her sharp, blue eyes meet Azzi’s as she stops next to her, wearing a grin that seems completely out of place in the tense, competitive atmosphere of the training center.

“Azzi Fudd,” Paige says, her tone casual, as if they’re not preparing to kill each other in a matter of days. “District Nine.”

Azzi glances back at the screen, her brows furrowing slightly. She doesn’t know how to feel about Paige approaching her. She doesn’t know what she wants. This could be some kind of strategy—get close to your enemies, make them lower their guard. Azzi isn’t stupid. She knows better than to trust anyone here.

“Bueckers,” Azzi replies, her voice neutral, not giving anything away. She keeps her eyes on the screen, scrolling through more plant images.

But Paige doesn’t leave. She shifts her weight, bouncing slightly on her heels, like she can’t seem to stay still. The grin on her face widens, and Azzi feels even more confused. Why is Paige so friendly? Why is she smiling like they’re just two normal girls having a chat?

“So, you’re, like, really good with daggers, huh?” Paige says, her voice light. “I saw you throwing earlier. Pretty impressive.”

Azzi doesn’t look up. She sighs instead, her fingers hovering over the screen. “Guess so,” she mumbles. In the back of her mind, she knows she should probably be nicer. Paige might be trying to form an alliance, and with Kellan being a dead end, Azzi could use one. But trust is a luxury she can’t afford right now, and Paige’s enthusiasm throws her off.

Paige doesn’t seem fazed by Azzi’s short response, though. She keeps standing there, grinning like an idiot, her eyes twinkling with some kind of amusement. It’s unnerving how at ease she seems, how… happy. It’s probably a mask. She’s probably as terrified as the rest of them, and she’s just getting through it in her own way.

Nevertheless, Azzi can’t take it anymore. She turns her head slightly, locking eyes with Paige. “Why are you talking to me?” she asks bluntly.

Paige blinks, her grin faltering for just a moment. For the first time, she looks a little unsure of herself. “Um… I don’t really know, actually,” she admits with a small, nervous laugh. “Just… wanted to, I guess.”

Azzi narrows her eyes, studying her. She has no idea if the girl before her is being honest. But the sincerity in her voice catches Azzi a little off guard, and for a second, she’s not sure what to say. This is the Hunger Games. No one talks to someone just because they “want to.” Everyone has an angle. Yet Paige stands there, looking oddly genuine, like she really doesn’t have a reason. Like she just wants to talk to Azzi, no strings attached.

For a moment, Azzi’s walls start to crack. She considers the possibility—however slim—that Paige is just… a good person. It doesn’t make sense, not in a place like this, but the warmth in Paige’s smile makes Azzi’s suspicion waver.

“Well,” Azzi finally says, her voice a little softer than before, “maybe you shouldn’t.” She doesn’t look away this time, her eyes lingering on Paige’s, almost like she’s testing her.

Paige’s grin returns, softer this time, but still there. “Maybe,” she says, “but I’m here anyway.”

Azzi shakes her head a little, gaze returning to the screen. She needs to focus on this, not the girl beside her.

Paige doesn’t seem to be deterred, though, still watching Azzi with that easy smile, her eyes bright. “You’re pretty serious, yeah?” she says, tilting her head, almost like she’s teasing but not quite. “Locked in. I get it. Gotta be. But… we’re all here, y'know? Same boat.”

Azzi shifts her weight, feeling her jaw tighten. “I have to be serious,” Azzi mutters, her fingers swiping across the screen, though she’s not really paying attention to the plants anymore. Her heart beats a little faster under Paige’s gaze. “You can’t survive if you’re not.”

Paige leans in just slightly, and Azzi catches the faint scent of something sweet on her, like flowers. “I know that,” she says, her tone softening for a moment. “But you might need some help in there—if you wanna win.”

Azzi’s shoulders tense. The suggestion makes her uneasy, and her instinct is to push back. Help. From anyone, it feels too dangerous. It feels like relying on someone she can’t control. She barely trusts herself in this place, let alone a girl from another district who, let’s be real, could very well end up as an enemy.

“I don’t need help,” Azzi says, her voice firmer than before. “Especially not from people I don’t know.”

Paige’s smile fades a little, but there’s no frustration in her expression. If anything, she just looks… thoughtful, almost curious about Azzi’s reaction. It’s like she’s trying to figure her out, trying to see beneath the guarded exterior.

Azzi hates that. She doesn’t want to be studied or analyzed, especially not by Paige Bueckers. She’s already doing too much of that herself—constantly assessing everyone, weighing their strengths and weaknesses, trying to predict who’s a threat and who might just fade into the background.

“I’m not trying to get in your way, Azzi,” Paige says quietly, her voice losing some of its earlier lightness. “But, y’know, maybe we don’t have to be enemies. I’ve seen you, and you’re good. Like, real good. And neither of us are Careers and both our district partners are kinda duds, so I just thought…”

Azzi cuts her off, turning to face her abruptly. “Thought what? That we’d be allies? Friends?” She shakes her head, ignoring the strange knot of tension building in her chest. Paige might be trying to help, but Azzi doesn’t want it. She can’t want it. Not here. “It doesn’t work like that. I don’t work like that. Sorry.”

Paige stands there, still watching her, and for a second, Azzi thinks she sees something flicker in Paige’s eyes—disappointment, maybe, or understanding. But Paige doesn’t push back. She just nods once, a slow, thoughtful thing.

“Okay,” Paige says, stepping back a little, giving Azzi space. Her smile returns, softer, but still there. “I get it. Just… keep doin' what you’re good at.”

Azzi feels a strange pang in her chest as she watches Paige step away, like maybe she’s made a mistake. But no—she can’t think like that. She needs to stay focused, stay sharp, stay alone. That’s how she’ll survive.

Without another word, Azzi turns on her heel and walks away, her heart beating faster than before.

THE PINK dress hugs Azzi’s figure, its soft blush fabric shimmering under the bright lights of the dressing room. It’s not something she’s ever imagined herself wearing—not this shade, not this tight. She looks almost like a Capitol citizen now, polished and flawless in her own right.

The dress has a high neckline and delicate straps that crisscross her shoulders, falling in elegant folds down to her ankles. It’s simple, yet the color makes her stand out, glowing softly against her dark skin. Her hair is styled in loose waves, not unlike the Capitol’s obsession with effortless beauty, with the font pieces pulled back into braids. The makeup is light but dramatic—plump lips, accentuated cheekbones, and eyes that pop with a subtle pink shimmer.

Seraphine steps back, admiring her work with a satisfied smile. “You look stunning, Azzi. Like a dream.”

Azzi nods, not fully meeting Seraphine’s gaze. She knows she looks good, but it doesn’t feel like her. The face staring back at her in the mirror is a version of herself she doesn’t recognize. It’s not the Azzi from District Nine; it’s not the girl who shoots hoops with her brothers or helps her dad tend to the crops. It’s someone else—someone made for the Capitol’s stage. Someone for their entertainment.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, though her voice lacks enthusiasm. Seraphine doesn’t seem to mind. She knows by now that Azzi is serious, focused. There’s no time for compliments when the Games are looming.

Seraphine’s assistant adjusts the hem of Azzi’s dress one last time before stepping aside. “You’ll knock them dead,” she says with a wink, though the words sit heavy with the weight of their meaning. Knocking them dead. That’s quite literally what Azzi will have to do soon enough.

As she’s led out to the waiting area before the interviews, Azzi’s mind begins to drift. She thinks back to the training evaluations, how she had scored a 10—one of only four tributes to do so. A 10 is good, she knows that, but the competition is fierce. Both the girl and boy from Two scored 10s and Paige managed a 10 as well. There are other tributes with 9s, plenty who will be formidable in their own right. But Paige? Paige is different. She’s unpredictable, unnervingly skilled. And something about her makes Azzi feel a pang of unease.

As Azzi settles into her seat backstage, waiting for her interview with Caesar Flickerman, she watches the other tributes’ interviews on the screen. The Careers are all flashy and confident, playing up their deadliness to the crowd’s delight. Caesar eats it up, grinning and laughing as they boast about their skills and charm the Capitol audience. The boy from District Four also stands out—tall, muscular, and intimidating. A strong swimmer, no doubt. He’ll be dangerous, especially if the arena is at all water-based.

But none of them hold a candle to Paige.

When Paige steps onto the stage, it’s as if the entire room shifts. She looks stunning, effortlessly cool, in a crisp white suit that contrasts sharply with the frilly dresses most of the other girls have chosen. Her hair is down, styled in soft, wavy locks, with the top half pulled back in a way that highlights her sharp features. She looks more masculine than the other girls, but somehow that works in her favor. It’s not just that she’s different—it’s that she owns it. The Capitol loves different.

Azzi watches, unable to tear her eyes away, as Paige charms the entire crowd. She’s funny, confident, and just the right amount of cocky. Caesar practically beams at her, and the audience is eating out of the palm of her hand.

“You’re quite the swordswoman,” Caesar says, raising his eyebrows in admiration. “I saw your score, Paige—a 10! That’s incredible.”

Paige just grins, shrugging casually. “You know, I try.”

The crowd laughs, and Cyrus begins to mutter under his breath. “Damn it,” he says, shaking his head as he runs a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “She’s going to have sponsors lined up around the block.”

Azzi knows he’s right. Paige isn’t just skilled—she’s magnetic. People want to root for her. She’s dangerous, yes, but she’s also got this charm that makes you want to see her win, even if that means she’ll be killing people to get there.

Azzi swallows hard, feeling a knot form in her stomach. As much as she doesn’t want to admit it, she’s drawn to Paige, too. There’s something about her that pulls Azzi in—her confidence, her grace under pressure, her ease in the face of what’s to come. It’s not just attraction, though she can’t deny that Paige is beautiful. It’s more than that. There’s something about Paige that makes Azzi feel like she’s… alive. Like she’s not just surviving, but living fully in the moment, despite everything. Ironic, considering Paige could be the one to kill Azzi in that arena—or vice versa.

And Azzi hates that she feels this way. She shouldn’t be drawn to Paige. She shouldn’t be thinking about how Paige’s eyes had locked onto hers back at the opening ceremony, or how Paige had approached her during training, trying to talk like they were friends. None of it matters. Paige is just another tribute, another obstacle standing between Azzi and survival.

But still… there’s something about her.

As Paige’s interview wraps up, the crowd erupts in applause, and Caesar gives her a hug before she leaves the stage. Azzi watches as Paige walks off, her suit practically glowing under the stage lights. For a brief moment, Paige glances in Azzi’s direction, their eyes meeting across the room. It’s quick—just a fleeting second—but Azzi feels her heart skip a beat before she looks away, reminding herself why she’s here.

Just two interviews later, Azzi is taking a deep breath as the lights hit her, stepping forward onto the stage. The crowd is massive, louder than she imagined, and their cheers seem to echo in her chest. Her eyes land on Caesar Flickerman, who’s grinning wide at her as she approaches him, his flamboyant suit sparkling under the stage lights.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to Azzi Fudd from District Nine!” Caesar announces, and the crowd’s cheers grow even louder.

Azzi sits down next to Caesar, her fingers resting awkwardly in her lap. Despite the excitement around her, she feels the familiar nervousness bubbling up inside. This isn’t her element—talking, being the center of attention. She’d rather be on the sidelines, unnoticed, but here, there’s no avoiding it.

“Azzi, you look absolutely radiant tonight!” Caesar says, his voice warm and enthusiastic. “Tell me, how does it feel to be here in the Capitol, getting all this attention?”

Azzi smiles politely, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her dress. “It’s… different,” she says softly. “I’m not really used to it. But it’s nice, I guess. Everyone’s been very kind.” Very kind because they probably know I’ll be dead in a couple weeks.

Caesar nods, leaning in slightly. “I can imagine it’s quite a change from life in District 9. Tell me, what’s life like back home?”

Azzi pauses, her mind drifting back to the open fields and the quiet days of working alongside her family. “It’s simple,” she says. “We work hard, but it’s peaceful. Most of my days I’m just spending time with my family, doing the chores or playing basketball. It’s nothing like here, but it’s home.”

Caesar smiles warmly, sensing the connection she has to her district. “Family, huh? I bet they’re watching right now, rooting for you. Tell me, do you have a big family?”

Azzi shrugs a little. “Not too big, not too small, I think. There’s my parents, and then I have two younger brothers. And we’re still very close to my grandparents. I just… love my family, they’re very supportive. They’re great.” She feels her throat get choked up by the end of the sentence, not wanting to think too much about her family, how much she misses them. Even though, truthfully, she knows she should be thinking about her family because that is what needs to be her motivation. She needs to win this for them, no matter how impossible it may seem.

The crowd gives a soft murmur of approval, and Caesar’s grin widens. “That’s wonderful. Sounds like you’ve got a lot of people cheering you on back home. And speaking of support…” He pauses dramatically, the audience clearly hanging on his every word. “Any special someone out there you’re hoping to impress? Perhaps a crush back home?”

Azzi’s eyes widen a little at the question, feeling her face heat up. A crush. That is quite literally the last thing on her mind right now. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, not sure how to answer without sounding awkward.

“I, um… no,” she says with a laugh that’s more nervous than she intended. “Not really. I’ve been focused on training, so… no time for that.”

Caesar laughs good-naturedly, waving a hand as if to brush off the question. “Oh, I get it, I get it! Training comes first, of course. But I’m sure there are plenty of admirers in the Capitol who are wishing they could get your attention.”

The crowd cheers in agreement, and Azzi can’t help but smile a little at their enthusiasm, though she still feels her nerves fluttering in her stomach.

“But let’s talk about something fun,” Caesar continues, changing gears smoothly. “You’ve been in the Capitol for a little while now. What’s your favorite part so far? The food? The fashion? The luxury?”

Azzi takes a moment to think, glancing down at her dress. It’s true, everything in the Capitol has been overwhelming—lavish and excessive compared to the modest life she’s known back in her district. But there’s one thing that stands out to her more than anything.

“The food,” she answers with a small smile. “I’ve never seen so much of it in my life. And it’s all so… colorful. I didn’t even know you could make food look like that.”

Caesar chuckles. “Colorful! I don’t think I’ve heard that one before.” He hits his knee as he laughs, the audience giggling with him. “But, yes! The Capitol chefs do love their extravagant dishes. Has there been anything in particular that’s caught your eye?”

“Honestly, the desserts,” Azzi admits, her smile widening. “There was this cake we had the other night, and it was shaped like a swan. I’ve never seen anything like it. It was so good.”

The crowd laughs once more, clearly charmed by her innocence, and Caesar claps his hands together. “A girl after my own heart! Who can resist a good dessert, right?”

Azzi relaxes a little more, finding it easier to talk now that the conversation has shifted to lighter topics. Caesar’s friendliness helps, and she realizes that, for the first time, the crowd isn’t as intimidating as she thought they’d be.

“You know, Azzi,” Caesar says, his tone softening just a bit, “you’ve got this quiet strength about you. I think a lot of people are really drawn to that. You don’t need to be loud or flashy to make an impact. And clearly you have made an impact—you scored a ten in the training. I mean, come on!”

Azzi smiles a little bit at the validation, her dimples poking through. “Thank you,” she says, nodding. And then she shrugs, her lips quirking up a little further as she adds, “I try.”

Caesar and the crowd chuckle at the action. “Well, you’ve certainly done well,” he tells her earnestly, before adding, with a wink, “And I have to say, your smile is absolutely infectious. I think you’ve got the whole crowd wrapped around your finger.”

The audience cheers again, louder this time, and Azzi feels her face heat up.

“Well, Azzi, it’s been an absolute pleasure talking to you tonight,” Caesar says, standing and offering his hand to help her up. “I think I speak for everyone when I say we’re all rooting for you.”

Azzi stands, shaking Caesar’s hand and giving the crowd a small wave as they erupt into applause. As she walks off the stage, back to where Seraphine, Lucia, and Cyrus are waiting, the adrenaline from the interview still buzzes through her.

Lucia beams at her as she approaches, her hands rushing to cup Azzi’s cheeks. “You were perfect, Azzi! Absolutely perfect.”

Seraphine nods in agreement. “The crowd loves you. You’re going to get so many sponsors, I just know it.”

Even Cyrus gives her a rare grin, clapping her on the shoulder. “You did good out there, kid. Real good. I think you’ve got them in the palm of your hand now.”

Azzi lets out a breath, the tension slowly leaving her body as she realizes she’s done it. She got through the interview, and didn’t just survive it—she actually made a connection, made herself heard and liked. The Capitol might not feel like home, but for now, at least, she knows she’s done everything she can to stand out in the best way possible.

THE MORNING is unnervingly quiet. Azzi walks beside Cyrus, the soles of her shoes barely making a sound on the sleek marble floors of the Capitol building. They’re headed toward the hovercraft, the final step before the arena. The place where everything will change. Each step closer feels heavier, the weight of what’s coming settling into her bones.

Cyrus walks just ahead, his brow furrowed in thought. Azzi knows well enough that he’s not the type for overly emotional goodbyes, but there’s a seriousness to him today that wasn’t there during training. His hands are tucked into his pockets, and Azzi notices the faint lines of tension in his jaw. She’s quiet, still processing the fact that in just a few hours, she’ll be fighting for her life.

As they near the docking area, Cyrus stops abruptly, turning to face her. His eyes are sharp, cutting through the nervous haze that’s settled over her.

“Listen to me, Azzi,” he begins, voice low but firm. “This is it. From here on out, it’s all strategy. Everything you do, every move you make—it has to be calculated, smart.”

Azzi nods, her throat tightening as she listens.

“I know it’s not in your nature to trust easily, but in the arena, you’ll need to be even more cautious,” he continues. “Don’t form alliances unless it’s strategically sound. I don’t care if they seem friendly or if they remind you of someone from back home—trust no one unless it gives you an advantage.”

His words cut deep, and she swallows hard. She hasn’t really thought much about alliances, but it’s clear that Cyrus has. He knows this game inside and out.

“And whatever you do, keep your emotions in check,” Cyrus adds, his gaze hardening. “The moment you start caring too much about anyone in there, you’ve already lost. I know you’re good-hearted, Azzi, but that’s not going to save you—not in the Games.”

She doesn’t say anything, just nods again. The lump in her throat grows as the reality of what’s coming washes over her.

“And the bloodbath.” Cyrus pauses, before his voice lowers slightly. “The moment those platforms rise, it’s going to be chaos. Don’t linger. Don’t get caught up in the fight unless it’s unavoidable. Get what you need and get out. Do you understand?”

Azzi meets his eyes, the weight of his words settling deep in her chest. “I understand,” she says softly.

He studies her for a moment, and for the first time since they arrived in the Capitol, Cyrus’s tough exterior seems to soften. His hand reaches out, resting on her shoulder, and the squeeze he gives is firm, reassuring.

“I believe in you,” he says quietly, his voice sincere. “You’re smart, and you’ve trained hard. I’m going to do everything in my power to help get you home.”

Her eyes well up slightly at his words, but she quickly blinks back the tears. She can’t afford to be emotional right now. There’s no space for it.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, barely able to get the words out past the lump in her throat.

Cyrus nods once, and then he’s stepping back, his hand falling away from her shoulder as they reach the hovercraft. Seraphine is already there, waiting for Azzi, her usual cheerful demeanor muted with the solemnity of the day. The metallic hiss of the hovercraft’s door opening sends a shiver down Azzi’s spine. This is it.

Without another word, Azzi steps inside. Seraphine follows, offering a small, reassuring smile as the door slides shut behind them. The hovercraft hums softly as it lifts off, heading toward the arena.

Inside, the sterile, clinical atmosphere makes her stomach churn. A Capitol medic approaches her almost immediately, a small syringe in hand. Azzi barely flinches as the needle pierces her skin, injecting the tracker into her forearm. She knows it’s necessary. They need to know where she is at all times. It’s standard procedure, but it still makes her feel like livestock.

Seraphine sits beside her, her usual flair for Capitol fashion stark against the dull surroundings of the hovercraft. She doesn’t say much, just watches as Azzi rubs her arm where the tracker was inserted. The silence is heavy, filled with unspoken words, and it’s not long before they arrive at the underground facility just outside the arena.

Once inside, they’re led into a small room where Azzi is handed her arena outfit—a black, water-resistant suit that fits snugly against her frame. It’s durable, sleek, and clearly meant for endurance. The material feels odd against her skin, foreign compared to the simple, looser clothes she’s worn most of her life.

She glances at herself in the mirror. The suit is practical, but its design tells her something about the arena. Water. The Capitol is hinting that water will play a significant role in the Games. Maybe a jungle, maybe a lake, or something more treacherous. Her mind races with possibilities, but she pushes the thoughts aside. She’ll find out soon enough.

As she pulls the last of the suit into place, Seraphine watches her carefully, her eyes glassy. The usually confident stylist seems suddenly small, fragile, as if she’s struggling to keep herself together. She steps forward, her hands gently smoothing the fabric of Azzi’s suit, her fingers trembling slightly.

“You’re going to be alright, Azzi,” Seraphine says softly, her voice cracking just a little. “You’ve been so strong. You’re going to make it back—for your family. I know you will.”

Azzi’s chest tightens at the words. Seraphine’s sincerity, her belief that Azzi can survive this—it’s almost too much to bear.

“Thank you,” Azzi whispers, her voice barely audible.

Seraphine pulls her into a tight hug, her arms wrapping around Azzi’s frame with surprising strength. It’s brief, but Azzi feels the weight of Seraphine’s worry in that embrace. It’s like she’s saying goodbye.

When they pull apart, Seraphine’s eyes are red-rimmed, though she’s trying her best to hold it together. “Good luck, Azzi,” she says, her voice shaky. “You’re going to be okay.”

Azzi swallows the lump in her throat and nods. She doesn’t trust herself to speak, so she just gives Seraphine a small, grateful smile.

The door to the launch chamber opens, and it’s time.

Azzi steps into the glass cylinder, her heart pounding in her chest. The last thing she sees before the platform begins to rise is Seraphine, standing in the doorway, her hands clasped tightly together as if in prayer.

And then the ground shifts beneath her feet, and she’s lifted upward, the glass tube carrying her toward the surface. Toward the arena.

The first thing she notices is the intense humidity. The air is thick, almost suffocating, and it clings to her skin. As her eyes adjust to the sudden brightness, she realizes why—it’s a jungle. Dense, tangled vines hang from towering trees, their massive roots weaving through the ground like some ancient network. The ground beneath her platform is slick with mud, and just beyond the edge of the platform is a large body of water—a vast lake, its surface calm and unnervingly still. It stretches out as far as she can see, bordered by the dense jungle on one side and the metallic glint of the Cornucopia in the center.

Water. She was right.

Azzi’s gaze darts to the other tributes. There’s movement all around her, platforms rising as the others are pulled into view. Some faces are familiar from the training center, others not so much. She spots the Careers first—the boy and girl from District Two, standing tall and confident, both of them dangerous and ready. Their eyes are already locked on the Cornucopia, clearly prepared to kill anyone who stands in their way.

A few spots down, she sees Kellan. His face is pale, his eyes wide with fear. He looks like he’s barely holding it together, his body stiff as if he might bolt the second the gong sounds. He’s trembling slightly, and Azzi’s heart tugs at the sight. He’s not going to last long, not with that kind of fear weighing him down. But she can’t afford to think about him—about anyone, really. Cyrus’s voice echoes in her mind: Don’t get too close to anyone.

She swallows hard, her gaze shifting back to the Cornucopia. The metallic structure gleams in the sunlight, stacked with supplies—everything they’ll need to survive. Weapons, food, water. But it’s a death trap. The Careers will get there first, and they’ll cut down anyone who tries to take something they’ve claimed.

Azzi’s eyes flick to the jungle behind her. It might be safer to head for cover, to avoid the bloodbath entirely. But then again, if she doesn’t grab something now, she could be left empty-handed, vulnerable. She forces herself to breathe deeply, trying to focus on her strategy. It has to be quick, precise. She’ll grab something—anything—and get out. That’s it. Nothing fancy.

The countdown begins, the metallic voice booming over the arena. Sixty seconds.

Azzi’s heart races as the clock ticks down. She glances around once more at the other tributes, trying to gauge their movements before it’s too late. Some are already tensing, their eyes glued to the Cornucopia. Others, like Kellan, are frozen in place, terrified to move. Far across from her, Azzi thinks she sees a flash of blonde hair. Paige. She wonders if she’s scared right now.

Thirty seconds.

Azzi’s hands ball into fists at her sides, every muscle in her body tightening. The humidity, the jungle, the water—it all presses in on her, but she pushes the fear down. She can’t afford to freeze up. She won’t.

Fifteen seconds.

Her pulse pounds in her ears, the world around her narrowing to just the Cornucopia and the water at her back. She feels the weight of everything—Cyrus’s words, Seraphine’s hope, the Capitol’s eyes—bearing down on her. It’s overwhelming, but she won’t let it break her.

Ten seconds.

The other tributes are crouching now, their bodies taut, ready to sprint the moment the gong sounds. Azzi glances at the Cornucopia again, her mind calculating every possible move, every route.

Five seconds.

Her heart hammers in her chest, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

Three.

She digs her heels into the platform.

Two.

Her hands tremble.

One.

The gong sounds.

The Sixtieth Hunger Games have begun.

[drabblejester]

good day, mister jester :) I see youre taking request. sicne you yourself are a jester, might i ask how the archons would deal with having their own jester? (making silly jokes, harmless pranks etc) how they acquire said jester is up to you!

how the ARCHONS would treat you as their JESTER!

requested by: wonderful sillay anon!!

parings: all archons & jester!reader

content warnings: none!! just silliness

comments: take this as romantic(NOT FOR NAHIDA) or platonic idc HEEHEE!! this is a splendid ask thank u my liege <3 probably ooc

VENTI:

you’re jester’d by him after he found you on the street, while he was bumbling around drunk. thought you were funny, so he just tagged you along!!

and oooh he LOVES you!!! he writes so many songs for you to dance along to, happily singing and strumming his little lyre while you bust a move

if anything its the both of you that are the jesters… instead of you being in a ‘jester & god’ scenario, its more of a ‘jester & jester’ thing. you tell eachother jokes, sing with eachother, etc! and after yall have fun, you lay down in the grass together and snooze :3

ZHONGLI:

you’re jester’d by him after one of the millith recommend you to him, saying many good things about you and your antics!!! he meets you in person and it goes well!!

despite his strong and gentle demeanor, he will giggle and watch you happily. in fact, he actually HELPS you pull off pranks. ranging from replacing all of venti’s sugar with salt, painting on the hull of beidou’s ship, or snatching masks from fatuus, you’re having fun alongside him sometimes!!!

he treats you super well, lavishing you with yummy treats and delicious tea. he makes a little room for you somewhere in the inn, and always makes sure you’re happy and well taken care of.

RAIDEN:

you’re jester’d by her after miss sara almost puts you in jail. thankfully, your silly demeanor and joyous attitude captivated her. so you get to go free! as long as you can provide her some entertainment sometimes.

she actually doesn’t have you entertain her that often, just kinda keeps you around like a cool rock. more often, you’ll find yourself entertaining her guards and her loyal followers instead. which is still nice!

she’ll try her best to take care of you, but ultimately ends up just plopping you in the hands of the people she trusts. she isn’t too fond of your pranks but she loves your performances, so you’re equipped with props and costumes :3

NAHIDA:

you’re jester’d by her after you were grabbed by the scruff by a forest ranger, gently being ushered back into the city like a lost cat. which you might as well be! she saw you, you told her a few jokes and gave her some candy, and she got somewhat attached

she really likes your jokes!!! simple puns only, and the occasional riddle. a lot of the time, she’d actually be telling YOU riddles! sadly they’re very hard to figure out so good luck. you get to teach her about certain jokes but you have to explain the punchlines 50% of the time

life with her is very simple, she holds you as an equal (maybe even as a sibling figure?) unlike other archons like raiden or mavuika. you entertain her, and she entertains you! like a nice equal exchange of knowledge in the form of silly jokes.

FURINA:

you’re jester’d after being caught by the guardes for breaking some obscure law, probably related to a prank you pulled. you’re dragged into court (which breaks your silly heart…), furina sees you, and VERRYY dramatically calls for a halt. she runs away with you(and neuvillette on your tail).

she treats you like a secret, not in a weird way but in a.. whispers to you to go and check out the magazine selection and sends you off like her personal little scarab. it’s very obvious you two are hanging out because BOTH of you became 10x more dramatic, but she refuses everything.

your living situation is like roommates, despite her holding some power over you. neuvillette insisted that you get a separate apartment but you both complained enough to where you got to stay hanging out. you’re like best friends!! you eat sweets together, hang out, etc. she even teaches you some of her super secret acting techniques!!!

MAVUIKA:

you’re jester’d after you become hopelessly lost in natlan, miserably jingling across the floor, and winding up in a family of saurians. she finds you all sad and weeping and ue ue ue, and takes you in like a little baby birdie.

actually, you don’t do much entertaining with her! when you do, it’s usually her trying to train you to become strong. thankfully your little kicks and sad punches don’t do much to her. so to cheer you up, she lets you tell her riddles and stories and jokes. turns out she is a SUCKER for puns.

you get to hang out in natlan wherever you want, like tossing a bird in the air and letting it fly away for a bit. your best nap spot is in a very cramped little cave, all cozied up with one blanket to make the edges less sharp. surprisingly it’s very cozy! you can even curl up above on the rocks like a lizard!!!!

TSARITSA:

you’re jester’d by her after a few fatuus find you all sad and wet in the city, jingling about and being a general disturbance to the peace (as god intended). you’re dragged all the way to the palace, to get judged. you’re not put in as a harbinger but you get to be a fool one way or another!

speaking of harbingers, they either love you or hate you. the tsaritsa will always ensure your safety from the weirdness of dottore and the edginess of signora, but you can’t help but be a little upset by them. she’ll wipe your tears and allow you to dance around the palace to help you feel better :3

you get free reign over the palace whether the harbingers like it or not. curled up on lab tables, hunched under chairs, maybe stealing a fatuu grunt’s bed, etc. and they don’t get to say anything bad about you because you’re the tsaritsa’s special little jester! pierro is still upset that you stole his cool nickname though

eat up my liege… leave no crumbs either. i just swept the floor

[fbfh]

dad!tony + stark!reader growing up/childhood hcs

wc: 1.4k

genre: fluff, a little angst, preventative hurt/comfort, family/domestic bliss

pairing: dad!tony + kid!stark!reader, gen 1 ironfam (tony, pepper, rhodey, happy) + reader

warnings: Tony loved your mom and thinks you look like her, your mom is not in the picture (open to interpretation), takes place in the early 2010s, mentions of iron man 1 - 3 and the first avengers movie, tony's a good dad, brief mentions of kidnapping/attacks/general danger, tony found out he had a kid and took you in backstory, bonding, tony's a good dad, did I mention Tony's a good dad

a/n: oh boy did this make me feel things lol. self shipping to cope hours who's with me.

@yesv01 @afidiofobia @thatmultifandomloser @babiesimagines @lizziebitch33 @hopefullhearts @thatawkwardlittlefangirl  @dustyinkpages @liberty-barnes

Knowing what Tony’s like

And we all know what he’s like

The odds are if you’re his kid that he did not know you existed for at least a couple years

(I also like this backstory most bc it puts you roughly in the same age group as Peter and Harley and yall already know how I feel about that)

Your mom is probably someone that caught his attention and heart during his playboy era then disappeared

A few years later 

You or turn up with a very detailed letter from your mom addressed to him

And you look so much like her it knocks the air right out of him

You also look so much like him too

You have all of his sass and intelligence and mannerisms 

It’s shocking at first

You probably came into his life some time after he became iron man but before the avengers were formed

Early 2010s yk 

Which means you actually have a little time to settle into your new life before shit hits the fan again

You know the whole “I’m trying to break generation cycles” thing he has with Peter in homecoming?? 

He has that exact same talk with you

He does so much research and a fuck ton of self reflection on how to raise a kid 

And really be present for them

It's a very spicy emotional time for both of you 

Because he realizes he needs to deal with all the unresolved shit he's been suppressing and ignoring 

And you're trying to deal with the fact that up until now, you really weren't being taken care of like you should have been 

And you're both trying to deal with how scary and dangerous all of the new threats out there are as Fury presses Tony to join the avengers

But you make it work

Because Tony is not giving up on you

And he's not resting until you're totally happy and comfortable and safe with all your needs met

The first time you call him dad?????

He has to try so hard not to cry

He's just so proud of you 

And he loves you so much

He gets that feeling whenever you call him dad

Even when you say it every day 

Even when you introduce him as your dad 

And reference him as your dad 

No matter how often it happens

He never stops getting that feeling

He majorly prioritizes making sure you have a good education too

And that you’re really getting something out of it

Whatever the best solution for you is, you’ll figure it out

While I love the idea of little baby stark just showing up to class in like 3rd grade and being like “this is my dad’s old prosthetic heart it’s a miniature arc reactor he built in a cave when he was kidnapped by terrorists” then proceeding to explain to your whole class and teacher how he designed built and powered the first draft of his suit, and how the electromagnet keeps the shrapnel in his chest from killing him 

Or Tony calling you in sick and you show up a few days later sunkissed with souvenirs from the gorgeous tropical island he took you to “on business” 

After getting separated and having both your lives threatened during the battle of manhattan and the surrounding events

And after getting attacked (again) and not knowing you thought he was dead during the whole ordeal with Killian

He’s going to want to keep you close to him

You can’t get kidnapped or hurt or attacked if you’re near enough for him to keep you safe

And he can’t get kidnapped or hurt or attacked if you’re close by enough to make sure he’s really doing okay

After all the shit you’ve both been through you’ll probably both end up with a lot of anxiety and attachment issues 

But he works together with you to come up with plans for pretty much everything and every eventuality

Even if you know it might not help change the fact that there will be more fights to take on in the future, having a plan for keeping you safe during them makes you both feel a lot more better

And knowing he’s planned for every eventuality takes a huge weight off Tony’s mind too

Which means he can fight even better and save the world with a little more security knowing you’re okay now, and you’re going to be okay when he’s done with whatever problem he’s dealing with

So practically speaking he’ll probably get you a private tutor

Maybe online classes or homeschooling if those end up working better

But he’ll have Pepper find him some good candidates, then grill the living shit out of them

He’ll figure out their communication styles, their teaching styles, and generally if they pass the vibe test

When he finds someone who will actually be able to help you learn, they have to train a lot before they start tutoring you

The last thing he wants is for learning to become a source of distress for you instead of a tool to empower you

Plus having a tutor he can drag along with you means you have even more freedom to jet all over the world so he can surprise you with trips without either of you worrying about you falling behind

And speaking of empowering you

There is absolutely zero chance you’re not learning self defense and how to fight

He somehow helps you skip past the “wow self defense is scary” part right into the “wow this is super empowering and I feel safer and more secure since I started learning how to do this” part

Once you fly through the ranks of a bunch of different self defense and martial arts and fighting styles 

Then you start doing hero training

He makes you a suit that’s armed to the teeth

And also safety protocoled to the teeth

“For emergencies only.” 

After many, many safety talks, now you get to move onto the fun part

He gets to teach you how to use it

Neither of you can deny how much fun it is learning how to blast lasers from your palms or shoot rockets out of your wrists

He literally gets to teach you how to fly

It feels magical

It really feels magical watching you

His kid

Literally learn to fly with his help

God he’s just so proud of you

He loves you so much

Between the traveling and the privacy issues and the safety concerns, anything else you do 

Any skills or extracurriculars or hobbies 

Will also probably be from a tutor or private instructor too

One of his love languages is gift giving

He’s really looking forward to when you’re old enough for him to just hand you a credit card so he can see what you find when you come back

But until then he gets to spoil the shit out of you

Real talk he’s not going to stop spoiling you when you’re old enough to shop for yourself anyway

He loves the way your face lights up when he surprises you with something really cool

Trips, events, gadgets he made you

Anything you could conceptually want or imagine

All he has to do is wave his magic wand and now you have hyper realistic rainbow silicone mermaid tails for when you go swimming 

You have a secret reading room hidden in the back of your closet that you access by pulling a book on a shelf

He even has a toy made after you in your favorite toy line 

Barbies, american girls, legos, action figures

Or whatever your favorite toy/figurine is

He surprises you with a new one that looks just like you

And you lose your shit

Because who wouldn’t

What can he say

Tony loves spoiling you

Your existence is the greatest thing he could ever hope for

You are the most important beloved cherished thing in his life

All he wants is to keep you safe and happy and well taken care of 

And maybe a little pampered and spoiled

But you deserve it

You deserve to have the world handed to you

Which is exactly what he intends to do

[mad-serotonin]

who are your top ten favorite black clover and ships? talk about them! (welcome back to the fandom, always loved your art)

I’m thinking you meant top 10 CHARACTERS and top 10 ships. Here’s the characters for now! I have another ask for ships and since that’s gonna take me a bit more time to really think about you’ll get those soon with that ask I promise!

My top 10:

1. Finral

Already talked about him in depth so I’ll let everyone else shine here lol

2. Magna

The manliest man. The actual best underdog character in Shonen. Like Tabata knew what he was doing during the Heart kingdom training arc. (Vague manga spoilers for spade arc) Having to work insanely hard to catch up to everyone when they can do something you can’t and finding a way to accomplish something no one else can do????? That’s such a real experience and he’s so admirable.

The literal best friend you could have in this world. He’s so silly and supportive and awesome. Design wise one of my fav character designs ever he’s so sick. I should probably make a solo post about him too cuz I could go deep into his character.

3. Rill

THE ARTIST’S BEST FRIEND!!!! I heart him so much and the approach to his upbringing was so beautiful. His destruction circling around a lack of direction and inspiration for his work is so insanely relatable. And just seeing him be so carefree and happy in battle creating art 😭 I wanna be him.

Winner for the Clover Kingdom’s best laugh. Cutest character design he is so fluffy and pastel. I want to see more of his magic it’s made some of the best battle scenes in the show with just how much freedom there is with its imagery.

He’s so baby I just love him. Also shout out to him for changing the squad name for azure deer from gray deer. I can’t remember if it was explicitly stated but I KNOW that he did that.

4. Asta

The boy of the hour. Honorary spot at #1 because he is the one of the most successfully written Shonen protagonists of his archetype. Really love taking the going for the top motivation and giving a depth to it outside of personal ambition and having the concentration be on changing the world for the better. The purest soul.

Asta is so important. He not only motivates and inspires EVERY. SINGLE. CHARACTER. within the story. But also inspires so many people irl. Like i literally think “would this make Asta proud” when I do stuff sometimes JSJDHDDHHD and it motivates me to get through rough times.

He’s a cutie patootie and he breaks all expectations for what characters would typically do when faced with conflicts like he is. He truly is one of a kind and brings out the best in everyone.

I absolutely love the aspect of his character where he’s literally everyone’s lil brother. He just cares and trusts everyone on his team and fights for them SIMPLY because they are teammates no questions asked. Every time I rewatch the series I just admire the effect he has on their world and how it spreads one step at a time with each adventure. So many things wouldn’t have been possible without him being himself in situations and setting people straight in understanding their world. (This fact stands true even if not considering the anti magic as a factor. It’s all him baby.)

5. Langris

UGHHHHH I could write another essay but I shan’t. He is such a wonderfully complex character who has been so forcefully shaped into a figurehead of a group that represents strength, giving him such a terrible egotistical, yet self loathing view of himself. And despite all of it he genuinely wants to love and be loved outside of those factors. He’s just a very confused kid who needs genuine support instead of ego-feeding elitist parents HDHDHDH.

I’m very passionate about him. And I am SO PROUD of his character development through the story. Especially with his relationship with Finral. (I will for sure write a whole separate essay discussing them sometime soon). He was written so well both in his antagonistic position which in my eyes was very much mostly out of his control (not completely he’s not totally excused ✋🏻). Seeing him make genuine effort to change his outlook and behavior to rebuild a healthy sibling relationship, to support his brother and motivate him to improve himself as well, AND to remove himself from a position of high status when he knows he’s no longer the one suited for it really just proves how much he has grown. His complexity in his character just makes him so interesting and I want to see him and Finral team up more please I beg there was not enough. HAHSHSHS

6. Luck

I always loved Luck’s story and the exploration on his ability to express his emotions as time goes on is so good. Like the elf battle always makes me SOB he’s so good. I genuinely am obsessed with his friendship with Magna they are the best duo ever. He’s such a lil weirdo and his antics are just so perfectly lil brother energy to the rest of the squad. I will say Tabata had PEAK WRITING with his unwavering fear in battle that made the perfect set up for the seriousness of the Spade arc when they show him not wanting to fight ABSOLUTELY beautiful setup and reward right there. He’s a baby boy who doesn’t need to be protected but I want to anyways.

7. Klaus

OUR 👏🏻 KING 👏🏻 OF 👏🏻 CHARACTER 👏🏻 GROWTH👏🏻! Literally perfection how this man goes from prickly noble to Asta and Yuno’s number 1 fan. He has the perfect older brother energy and really became just an absolute sweetheart. I adore his support for Asta so much it always makes me laugh when they pan to him doing some weird stuff in hopes that it helps him out.

His magic is also so cool and damn I wish Tabata would give him some more badass spells because he could do SO MUCH. Give him a suit of magic armor mayhaps idk but it’s such a fun magic for him. Also design wise I love his hair and his features are just so pleasing. ESPECIALLY during the elf arc my god he looked like a model. I just think he’s very pretty HDHXHDHD. BUT YES an absolute king and deserves all the love.

8. Mars

Oooooo we need more of him in the manga. I swear the coolest dudes are underutilized this man is so sick. I love Mars’ story and I’m so glad that he reocurred in the story the way he did. He was really the perfect set up for the diamond kingdom being in the plot at all. But he himself. AN ABSOLUTE SWEETHEART he’s so good. He and Fana are precious together and I really admire his strength and commitment to his goals throughout his whole story. He had some of the coolest magic and I desperately need a Mars and Asta team up with their massive swords.

One of the best character designs from silhouette, outfit, colors and all. He is very handsome and just a cool dude overall. Y’all need to make more fan art of him I don’t see enough. I’ll make some too I promise.

9. Leopold

The king of not being in the story enough. For REAL he is so powerful and cool and he’s one of Asta’s rivals too I NEED a triple team up of him asta and yuno it would be FIRE absolute pun intended hehe

I love how straightforward he is, he’s so motivated and such a strong mage. I hope he gets to lead the crimson lions one day he absolutely deserves the position. He is the best friend of best friends. Being supportive of Asta from the start and being one of the least “noble” of all the other squads immediately solidified him as a favorite to me. And he just continued to kick butt and be a cool lad. His power is fun and I desperately wanna see him make full blown fire tornadoes NSHXHDH it would be SICK. but yeAH he is such an awesome character and a perfect rival and I think he deserves more screen time. I will for sure be drawing him again soon.

10. Yami

That’s our DAD 🫵🏻

God I will say this with all the confidence in the world he is the BEST WRITTEN DANG TEAM LEADER in Shonen. Like Tabata really said let this silly goofy man rescue all of these outcasts and be their dad and help them grow and I cannot handle any moment from any character without thinking about Yami’s influence. HE HAS DONE SO MUCH FOR EVERYONE.

The smartest idea ever translated from brain to paper was making this man a walking poop joke. LIKE INGENIOUS. I always find it funny and I always will. Make this absolute badass a true dad. He poop and he make bad joke. Honestly the funniest character.

His story from what I’ve gotten to is so interesting. It was so worth the wait to get to see more about him but even so his story just in the clover kingdom is so wonderful. I love how he really sets up the themes Asta stands for before he even gets to the squad. Where all of the change in the kingdom that happens wouldn’t have been done without him (a foreigner) and his whole team of unloved and unwanted individuals who were seen as worthless. Literally showing the world how wrong they are. Yami is best dad and he always will be.

Special shout out to William, Vanessa, and Gordon they deserve to be up here. Also David cuz I think he’s pretty and I love his magic but he is SO background character it hurts.

In the end I would have loved to talk about more of them but It’s hard picking favorites with this show. Literally everyone is written so well and I love them.

Thank you for the ask sorry if i went on a tangent a couple times LOL

[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (22/23)

Chapter summary: Natasha finally reaches out with a way for you to earn her forgiveness; You assess where you are in your own journey of discovering who you are without Wanda.

Chapter word count: 9.2k+ | Warnings: Angst | Ship: Wanda x Reader

Author's note: It's not the end--yet. Enjoy! :)

AO3 | Masterlist 

Next part: Twenty-three

--

Twenty-Two

The night before the Cup-off, you’re helping Wanda to round off all the final preparations for the competition when you finally receive a text you’ve been anticipating for the past several weeks. 

Natasha’s message is laconic and straight to the point. And she’s using a different number too.

Meet me in 30 minutes at our usual spot - Nat

Upon reading the message, it hits you right away that this is the only chance you’ll ever get to talk to your best friend again. You glance at Wanda who seems engrossed in a pile of notebooks, scribbling and revising her ideas with fervor. You approach her, lightly tapping her shoulder to grab her attention.

“Hey, I... I've got to go,” you say, your voice small and reluctant.

Wanda turns to face you, her brows stitching together in confusion. “Go? Now? What's going on?”

“It’s Nat,” is all you get to say before Wanda is nodding in full understanding. She sighs, running a hand through her hair. She knows how much you've been waiting for this. Truthfully, she's slightly apprehensive about how this conversation could unfold. And although she’s laid all her cards for you, she’s afraid that Natasha might say something that would change your mind about her. 

Wanda anxiously chews on her lip. This isn't the time for her to act selfishly. “Alright, just be careful, okay?”

In response, you kiss her quickly before heading out.

The walk to your usual spot is shorter than you remember, or maybe your thoughts are just too consumed by the prospect of seeing your best friend after weeks of begging her to talk to you.

You reach the small, familiar park where you've shared countless moments with Natasha. You find her sitting on the same bench where you used to sit together during your college days. Seeing her there, waiting for you, fills you with a pang of nostalgia. She looks up as you approach, her expression unreadable.

“Nat,” you greet, the nickname rolling off your tongue as if it hasn't been weeks since you last said it to her face. Her response is a silent nod, an invitation to sit beside her. Despite the clear tension, you sit anyway, waiting for her to speak first. This is her show, her rules. You're just here to listen.

“Y/N,” Natasha starts, her voice steady. There's a calculated calmness about her, which is so distinctly Natasha that it makes your heart ache a little. “It's been awhile.”

You nod, unsure of what to say.

Inhaling deeply, she continues, her emerald eyes piercing into yours. “I’m aware of what you're hoping to achieve here. But I need you to understand that this might not go as you think it will.”

“I know that, Nat.” you say.

“Do you?” she retorts with a humorless laugh. “Because I'm not sure you understand how much you've hurt my sister.”

Her pain and anger is as palpable as the day she told you you weren’t friends anymore–they simmer, beneath the facade of indifference that she’s practiced so well.

“Maybe I do,” you say.

“What?” Natasha asks sharply, as if daring you to elaborate.

“I do understand how she feels. Which is why I know there’s nothing I can do to atone for–”

“You really are shameless, you know that?”

“I'm sorry,” you whisper, though you know your words are but a hollow echo, unable to mend the broken pieces.

“For what?” Natasha counters, her eyes glossy under the dying daylight. “For betraying her? For breaking her heart? Or for being too cowardly to face what you've done?”

“For all of it,” you whisper, hardening your jaw to hold back the torrent of emotions ready to consume you. “And for the fact that I can't undo any of it.”

A single tear rolls down Natasha's cheek, and something constricts in your chest, knowing that Natasha rarely shows her emotions, let alone cry in front of anyone.

You thought you understood before, but you didn’t. Not until this moment. The hurt you've caused is not just a concept, it's tangible, it's real, and for the first time, you truly see it.

“I'm sorry,” you repeat, the sincerity of your regret reflected in your eyes.

For a moment, silence descends upon you both, broken only by the distant hooting of an owl and the rustling of the wind through the leaves.

“Does she know you're sorry?” Natasha finally asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“She...she does,” you say, letting out a ragged breath. “The last time I saw Yelena... I told her how sorry I was. But she...she told me she doesn't know if she can ever forgive me.”

This revelation takes Natasha by surprise. “She talked to you?” She manages to ask after a beat.

“Yes,” you blink at her curiously. “She hasn't spoken to you?”

Natasha slowly shakes her head. “Not recently,” she says, her voice faint. “She left the state. She's living in Chicago now.”

The information crashes into you, knocking the breath out of your lungs. 

“Chicago?” you parrot back, the city's name tasting foreign on your tongue. Yelena had moved states without you having any clue about it, intensifying the guilt gnawing at your insides.

“I found out through a fucking note,” Natasha divulges with a grim expression.

“I... I didn't know,” you stammer, an overwhelming feeling of regret washing over you. “I didn't realize it had gotten that bad.”

Her gaze returns to the park in front of you, her voice almost swallowed by the wind when she speaks, “It did. It really did.”

“I'm sorry,” you repeat, the apology feeling more potent this time. It extends beyond Natasha, reaching out to Yelena and even to yourself. A regret for the distress you've caused, for the trust you've broken, for the chasm your actions have carved between all of you.

“Stop apologizing. It’s starting to annoy me.”

You clump your mouth shut. Judging from the way this conversation is unfolding, it's abundantly clear that a friendly parting at the end is off the table.

Your teeth begin to chatter as the last vestiges of sunlight dip below the horizon. 

“Why couldn't we have moved this conversation to a more sheltered spot?” you grumble, observing the misty puffs of your breath evaporate into the frigid air.

Natasha merely shrugs, an almost sinister glint in her eyes. “Maybe I wanted to punish you a little,” she quips nonchalantly. She seems unaffected by the low temperature, hardened by her work which often requires resilience in less-than-ideal conditions.

Your reply is a tight-lipped smile, a pitiful attempt to make light of her response. The cold might be bearable for her, but you can't help but feel the chill seeping into your bones, much like the icy silence that follows her words.

It's quiet, too quiet, the silence pressing down around you both.

What now?

“I wish...” you start, but the sentence hangs in the air, unfinished. You wish for so many things. To turn back time, to change your actions, to see Yelena's face light up the way it used to. But more than anything, you wish for forgiveness–from Yelena, from Natasha, from yourself.

But none of that matters because you don’t wish you weren’t with Wanda now. She’s the only one anchoring you to this reality, having so much of yourself stripped away. 

“Don’t,” Natasha interrupts, her voice sharp as the frosty air. “Just...don’t.”

And then, a moment later Natasha rises and starts walking in circles in front of you. You look at her with a bewildered expression, curious to see what she’s up to. 

“But maybe there’s something…” she trails off, still following an invisible pattern on the ground as she keeps walking, avoiding your eyes. 

“Something…?”

“Maybe there’s a way for me to believe that you’re not making another big mistake in your life.”

“Nat, what are you talking about?”

Instead of answering, she finally looks up to you and asks, “Are you with Wanda now?”

You hesitate for a moment, and then slowly nod. 

With a tilt of her head and a raised eyebrow, Natasha lets out a laugh that is more of a scoff. There's a sharpness to it that feels pointed, almost a jab. Her lips curl into a smirk that's too pleased, too knowing. 

“I don’t even know why I expected anything else,” Natasha mumbles to herself. “And is it worth it?” she asks, her voice laced with bitterness. “Worth enough to risk our friendship, to break Yelena's heart?”

“Nat,” you start, watching her carefully, “What's this about? What are you implying?”

She takes a second to reply, staring at the darkening sky as if it holds the answers she needs. When she finally speaks, her words come out with a certain steeliness.

“I need to see it,” she declares, her gaze finally finding yours. “I need to see that this...whatever it is between you and Wanda, that it’s real, that it’s worth something. Worth losing Yelena and me, and everyone else who’s ever cared about you.”

The color drains from your face as she continues speaking, a sinking feeling in your stomach telling you where she's going with this. 

“And there’s something else,” she continues, her eyes narrowing. “I need to know that Wanda, the woman who had the audacity to cheat on you once, isn't going to do it again. That she’s not just playing you, and this isn't just her running from guilt or looking for comfort.”

“Nat,” you swallow hard, a tight knot of unease building up in your chest. “What are you asking?”

“I want you to stay away from Wanda for a year,” she says, her voice cold and unwavering. Her eyes challenge you, and the heavy demand sends a chill down your spine.

It seems overbearing, even slightly irrational, and she's aware of it. She understands how it might paint her as controlling, perhaps even bordering on the brink of madness. But if this is the price for her forgiveness, if this is the means for you to earn her acceptance of you and Wanda, then so be it.

For you, it’s almost suffocating. A year without Wanda seems daunting, an insurmountable task. But as you watch Natasha, her face stern, her posture unyielding, you understand that this is her version of justice, her way of testing the strength of your conviction. It's a tall order, but if it's the road to mending the fractures between you, then it's a path you're ready to consider.

It takes your breath away, as if the winter air has been sucked from your lungs. “A year?”

She nods, her expression unwavering. “If, after a year, you both still choose each other... if Wanda has remained loyal to you in that time, then I’ll know it’s real. Then I can start to consider the possibility that what you've sacrificed for this might not have been in vain.”

“Why would you ask me this?” your voice breaks as a lone tear trickles down your cheek, cold and sharp against your skin in the harsh winter. But Natasha remains unmoved by your visible distress, her chin held high in defiance.

“Because, it's the only way I can even think about forgiving you,” she surmises. “It’s the only way I can ensure you're not just making another colossal mistake. And more than anything, it's my way of trying to protect you... from yourself.”

“Protection? Is that what you're calling this?” you hiss at her, anger and bitterness lacing your words. “You want to take away someone who means the world to me? You expect me to believe that you're doing this for my sake, but all I see is you trying to make me as miserable and alone as possible!”

Your breaths coming out in ragged puffs against the frigid air. For a moment, Natasha looks taken aback by your outburst. Then, her expression hardens once again, her green eyes meeting yours with an unwavering resolve.

“I don't expect you to understand,” she says, her voice cold. “But if you truly care about Wanda as much as you claim, you would take this chance to prove it. Not just to me, but to yourself as well.”

“You’re not making any fucking sense.”

“Am I not?” Natasha fires back, her eyes flashing, her smirk carrying an edge of dissent. “Then answer me this, Y/N. Who are you without Wanda?”

“Who am I without Wanda?” You echo her question, your voice dripping with sarcasm, as if the very idea is preposterous. But then the reality of the question hits you like a ton of bricks. You repeat it, softer, almost a whisper, as the world seems to stand still around you. “Who am I without Wanda?” 

It's as if she's pulled the ground from under your feet and you're free-falling, grappling for something solid to hold on to. 

“Yes, Y/N. Who are you? Tell me,” Natasha urges, her voice relentless, cutting through the silence like a knife.

“I…” you begin, your voice faltering. You're the head of a finance department in a multimillion-dollar company. You earn a sizable income. You are the subject of envy among your male colleagues. You reside in a luxurious apartment in Manhattan. You're–

And yet, none of these achievements feel like they define you. 

None of these accolades hold meaning without Wanda. You recall how you had yearned for those promotions, how they were a part of a bigger plan–a plan for a life with Wanda, a shared dream of starting a family. Every milestone, every victory was not just yours, it was hers too. All those achievements were built around the scaffolding of your shared love. 

But everything crumbled when your marriage fell apart.

“And that's exactly why you need this,” Natasha tells you after a long period of silence that you didn’t even notice. Her tone is not condescending, but matter-of-fact, devoid of any satisfaction that she might have been right. “You've become so wrapped up in her that you've forgotten who you are. You need to figure that out, Y/N. You need to know who you are, independently, before you can be with her.”

Natasha then takes a deep breath, steeling herself before continuing. “I talked to Wanda a few weeks ago,” she discloses, and you look up at her in surprise. “She insists that she loves you. And it's possible that she's being honest... or maybe she's trying to convince herself that she does. But do you trust her, Y/N? Can you look me in the eye, right here, right now, and tell me without a shadow of doubt that you believe her?”

Your eyes search Natasha's, looking for signs of manipulation or deceit, but find none. Her question continues to echo in your mind, forcing you to confront something you'd rather not face. It's taunting, almost, making you look deep within yourself for the truth.

You think back to your conversations with Wanda, her promises of love, her regretful apologies. You recall the yearning in her eyes, the vulnerability in her voice, but also the uncertainty, the hesitance. You think about your sessions with Calliope. Each one of them ends in the same way, with you tasked to ruminate over your feelings, to introspect. There's never a concrete conclusion, only a carousel of thoughts that keeps turning, prompting you to understand your emotions better.

There's the constant feeling of jealousy. Random bouts of suspicion, an itch to check her phone, and look into her emails. None of this tells you that you trust Wanda.

“I... I want to,” you say, burying your face in your hands. “But I don't know if I can. Not yet.”

For a moment, there's a heavy silence, punctuated only by your quiet sobs. Then, Natasha moves. She takes a seat beside you again, bridging the space you've unconsciously put between yourselves. She hesitates for a second, as if unsure whether she's crossing a line, before finally placing an arm gently around your back in a silent show of support.

Her touch is unexpected, but it brings a certain level of comfort. In that moment, you realize that, despite everything, Natasha still cares. 

“What if I lose her?” you voice your biggest fear. 

A year–where anything can happen. It’s sailing into the seas without a compass. It’s essentially letting go and letting fate take over. 

“If she truly loves you, she'll wait,” Natasha responds simply. “And if she doesn't... well, then maybe she isn't the one for you after all.”

That stings. But the words resonate within you.

“Take the year, Y/N,” Natasha says softly, her fingers digging slightly into your back as if she can get you to listen more with the action. “Figure yourself out. Prove to me, to yourself, and to Wanda, that you can be someone beyond the prison of your love for the woman who doesn’t even deserve it.”

"If I choose to do this," you say, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. “Where does that leave us? Can we ever be friends again?”

Natasha is quiet for a moment, mulling over your question.

“This isn't about securing our friendship, or winning me over. It's not a trade-off.” she says.

“Then what is it?” you ask, your face crumpling as another dam breaks within you.

Her eyes seem to plead with you, even as her words keep their distance. “This is about you earning my trust back, not about bargaining for our friendship. This is about you finding a way back to your old self. Your happiness seems so intertwined with Wanda that it feels like you're not whole without her. But ask yourself this, Y/N, can you really be happy constantly doubting? Always second-guessing the sincerity of her love for you?”

“Think about it,” she says quietly. “That's all I'm asking, Y/N. Think about it. Really think about where you are right now. Who you are. What you need. And then decide.”

When you find your way back to Wanda, the look on your face immediately sets off alarm bells.

“Hey, what's wrong?” she asks immediately, pulling you inside the café where the air is much warmer. She touches your skin and lets out a small gasp, “You're freezing!” she exclaims. With a concerned frown, she cups your neck, her thumbs rubbing gentle circles on your skin as she gently nudges you to look at her. 

In a flurry of movement, Wanda dashes to the backroom to crank up the heater. Returning to your side, she carefully unzips your jacket, before wrapping herself around you in an attempt to share her body heat.

“Y/N?” she implores, her eyes searching the faraway look in yours, willing you to come back to the present. After a moment, you blink several times, as if waking from a dream. Finally, your gaze sharpens, landing on Wanda.

“Wands,” you utter, your voice barely a whisper. Your hands find their way to her cheeks, cradling them gently. Leaning in, you plant a tender kiss on her nose, grounding yourself in the moment with her.

“Did something happen with Natasha?” Wanda asks. She tries to steady her heartbeat, fearing what your answer might be.

You shake your head and give her a soft smile, your thumb grazing over her worried brow as you commit to memory every line that time and laughter have carved on her face, and then her eyes–a universe within their own right, trapped in forest green orbs that sheltered you for so long.

“We just said our goodbyes.”

“I'm sorry,” Wanda returns quietly, her concern deepening with each passing moment.

With another shake of your head and an effort to keep the mood light, you divert the conversation. “Let's get back to work for your competition, okay? You're going to do great tomorrow.”

***

Bryant Park is alive with anticipation.

The air is saturated with the aroma of freshly roasted coffee beans and resonates with the buzz of conversation and laughter. Coffee enthusiasts and competitors alike have gathered here for the highly anticipated annual coffee showdown. 

Your mouth waters at the prospect of tasting these unique and innovative creations crafted by the city's finest experts.

Wanda's booth, unpretentious yet warmly welcoming, serves as the focal point of your day. You, alongside Agatha, have dedicated your time to help her meticulously manage every aspect, while Peter holds down the fort at the cafe.

Wanda’s choice of beans–the ones you'd brought back for her from LA, single-origin and carefully sourced from a quaint little town in Northern Japan–was being used to craft three different offerings: a piping hot brew, a refreshingly cold variant, and an innovative ice-blended concoction.

Beside you, Wanda is a portrait of contained chaos. Her eyes, wide with a mix of fear and excitement, dart around incessantly, taking in the hustle and bustle of the competition. Her hand, icy and trembling, has been clutching yours in a vice-like grip for the past hour. You return the pressure every so often, your thumb gently stroking the back of her hand in a silent bid to soothe her nerves. 

“You got this, okay?” you assure her.

She gives you a quick, nervous nod but can't find the words to say anything. You let out a small chuckle, amused at how wound up she is. Despite her being a rookie in this competition, you've got no doubts she'll come out with a win. After a while, she mutters about needing to take a walk and stretch her legs. You nod, understanding her need for a bit of personal space, and secretly grateful for the chance to give your hand, which had been squeezed relentlessly, a break.

In the sea of people, you spot a familiar face–Valkyrie, her broad smile as conspicuous as ever. Her sudden appearance grates on your nerves. It seems she's always present at these occasions, enough to make you wonder if she's on a perpetual campaign trail.

“Running for mayor, Valkyrie?” you can't help but quip as you approach her, your tone laced with annoyance.

Her amused chuckle does nothing to soften the expression on your face. “Believe it or not, I'm not everywhere by choice," she responds, flashing her camera at you. "I'm a photographer, remember? These events are part of my job.”

She says it as though it's a fact you should already be aware of, which only fuels your annoyance further.

“I wasn't aware of that,” you shoot back, frowning at the lens pointed at you.

“Look,Y/N, no hard feelings,” Valkyrie says after she snaps a picture of your scowl. “I wasn't in on all the drama. Wanda gave me the rundown, though. Honestly, I'd probably be jealous of me, too.”

You narrow your eyes at her, crossing your arms over your chest. “What exactly did Wanda tell you?”

“That you two were married? And you cut her loose after she screwed up? That's kinda harsh, don't you think?”

“Well, you don't have a clue about the things we went through,” you retort rather defensively.

“Perhaps I don't. But I know a thing or two about loss,” Valkyrie counters, removing her gloves to show you her left hand.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Take a closer look,” she directs, pushing her hand further in front of your nose. Intrigued, you lean in and catch sight of a faint impression on her finger–evidence of a ring once worn.

She used to be married? 

As if reading your thoughts, Valkyrie offers a short explanation, “He died four years ago. It was cancer.”

Your retort dies in your throat. Oh.

After an awkward silence, you manage to stutter out, “I... I'm sorry.”

Valkyrie's smile has a quality that makes you perceive her in a new way. “Time passes,” she says. "People move forward, or they try to, at least."

She puts her gloves back on and readjusts her camera. “Wanda's a good person. And she's gone through a lot too. Be kind to her, okay? She deserves it.”

It’s an advice to be expected from someone on the outside looking in, but it’s also an advice that despite its simplicity, is actually very important and essential in every kind of relationship.

Before you can think of a response, Wanda returns to your side.

“Oh, hey, Val!” Wanda greets, throwing a brief hug around Valkyrie.

Valkyrie gives her a nod before asking, “How about a quick photo, while we wait for the results?”

You can't remember the last time you and Wanda posed for a photo together. There's an awkward moment before you position your hand around her waist, her own arms finding a comfortable place around your neck.

She presses her cheek against yours, her grin so broad it nudges your own expression into a smile. You make a mental note to ask Valkyrie for a copy later.

“Wanda, they’re about to announce the winners!” Agatha pushes through the crowd to reach you both, her face alight with anticipation.

Your heart pounds in your chest as everyone gathers around the stage, the chatter and noise dimming down into a sea of murmurs and excited whispers. The host takes their time, going through the runner ups and then the third place. As each name is announced and it’s not Wanda, your hope dwindles, thinking she may not have placed at all. Wanda recognizes some of them as owners of more-known cafes in her neighborhood.

And then, the host announces the second place winner.

“Second Chances cafe!”

The crowd erupts into cheers and claps, and you find yourself grinning ear to ear as she looks at you in shock and disbelief. Agatha gives a whoop, her arms flying into the air in celebration.

With an excited flush in her cheeks, Wanda takes the stage, her eyes never leaving yours. She accepts the plaque and cradles it with gentle hands, the glow of pride in her eyes enough to make your heart squeeze. As she turns to the crowd, she raises her hand, her fingers wiggling in a modest wave. The crowd roars in response, their cheers echoing in the open park. 

Wanda, second place in her first ever coffee showdown, and with a flavor she put together herself. It's like something out of a dream.

But the dream turns a little sour when you notice the many people coming up to her, showering her with praise, and more than a few of them seeming overly friendly. 

You see people congratulating her as she steps off the stage, handing her flowers and gift baskets, everyone eager to talk to her, to share in her moment of triumph. They are complete strangers, all drawn to her like moths to a flame.

And as you watch, you see them–people flirting with her. Wanda, for her part, remains gracious and kind, her smile never wavering as she laughs at their jokes and thanks them for their praise. 

But something about it makes your skin crawl, makes your hands clench into fists at your side. It isn’t just the jealousy, although that’s a large part of it. It’s the fear, the unshakeable insecurity that even after all you’ve been through, you could still lose her to someone else.

With every laugh she shares, every hand she shakes, the knot in your stomach tightens. You try to shake it off, reminding you that this is the very thing you’re both working on: trust. But as you see the ease with which she interacts with others, the memory of her infidelity looms larger in your mind.

Instead of confronting your feelings, you let them stew, let them build into an almost obsessive preoccupation with the thought of losing Wanda to someone else. It's a spiral you can't seem to pull yourself out of, a cycle of fear and uncertainty that you're trapped in. So, you stay in the background, your eyes locked onto her figure as she laughs and smiles with people who are not you, your mind racing with endless possibilities and outcomes. 

It’s a terrible, consuming feeling.

You should be happy for her. You are. But there's a voice in the back of your head whispering things you don't want to hear, insecurities you don't want to address, and fears you don't want to confront.

Yet they're all there, unavoidable in the wake of her success and the admiration she’s receiving from everyone.

When Wanda finally manages to extricate herself from the crowd and return to you, Natasha's words are already resounding deafeningly in your mind.

“Hey, is everything okay?” Wanda's voice breaks into your thoughts, the warmth in her eyes replaced with concern as she notices your distant expression. You force a smile onto your face, trying to push away the question that’s been haunting you:

Who are you, truly, without her?

“Everything's great,” you assure her, trying to sound more convincing than you feel. Wanda's forehead creases in doubt, but she doesn't push it further. Instead, she takes your hand, holds onto you in case you drift off somewhere she can’t follow. 

Her touch is meant to be soothing, but all it does is remind you of Natasha's challenge and another question pops into your mind:

Will you even survive if she breaks you the second time around?

As you're tucking yourself under the covers, you hear Wanda's voice call out to you, “Hey, Y/N,” causing you to peek out from the duvet.

“Yes?”

“Remember the assignment Calliope gave us? The...uh, eye-gazing thing?” She sounds slightly bashful mentioning it.

Your eyebrows raise in remembrance. “Oh, right,” you murmur, sitting up straighter on the bed. “Do you want to do it now?”

Wanda nods, her eyes already softening in preparation for the exercise. She situates herself across from you, the both of you sitting cross-legged on the large bed. The room is silent except for Sparky’s soft snores coming from the foot of the bed.

You grab your watch and check with Wanda, “Five minutes?”

As soon as she gives her go signal, you press ‘start’ on your watch. 

You take a deep breath, feeling the air fill your lungs and then slowly leave your body, calming your nerves. You lock your gaze with Wanda's, and for a moment, it feels like the entire world has come to a standstill.

The first few moments are awkward, and both of you giggle, breaking the silence. But soon, you both fall into a serene silence, eyes never leaving each other. You focus on her eyes, noting the flecks of different hues, the way her eyelashes curl, and how her eyes crinkle when she tries to suppress a smile.

“Are we required not to talk?” Wanda asks in a hushed tone, as if she’ll be reprimanded for it.

You respond with a shake of your head, biting back any words that threaten to slip out. Instead of talking, you allow yourself to reach out and tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, all the while keeping your eyes locked with Wanda’s. 

Wanda, understanding the unspoken agreement, begins to mirror your actions. Her fingers, gentle and warm, trace the line of your jaw. The simple, intimate gesture draws a soft breath from you, and in response, your hand comes up to cradle her cheek, thumb lightly brushing her skin.

The air between you two becomes charged, filled with an intimacy that words could never capture. Her touch is feather-light, but it ignites a slow burn in your core, making you hyper-aware of every point of contact.

Despite the lack of words, it's the most profound conversation you've had in a while, a connection so deep that it renders words meaningless. 

You let yourself get lost in her eyes. 

‘Getting lost in one’s eyes’–it’s something you’ve only read in books, a cliche found in romance novels that doesn’t really translate in reality’s fast-paced nature. But with this exercise, you discover that it’s possible. 

Time begins to slow as you swim further in those emerald pools, familiarizing yourself with what’s inside. You’re hyper aware of what you’re seeing, and focus all your emotions on the task at hand. 

But as you delve deeper, a painful realization begins to take shape: your entire purpose revolves around her, with not a sliver of it left for yourself.

Wanda does the same, and it allows her to see something else behind the look of adoration in them. She sees your insecurities. Your fears. But most of all she sees your love for her, the true magnitude of it. Wanda isn't sure what to make of all this, not just yet. Maybe this exercise isn't about finding answers, but rather about observation, about exposure. It's about having faith in each other, trusting that whatever you reveal, whatever pieces of yourselves you lay bare, won’t be dismissed or exploited.

As the final seconds of the five-minute mark wind down, Wanda gently leans in, allowing her forehead to rest against yours.

The last tick of the timer goes unnoticed, lost in the shared warmth between your foreheads. Neither of you makes a move to disengage from the connection, the outside world seemingly forgotten for now.

“Five minutes…” Wanda murmurs softly, more to herself than to you, as though astonished by how much could be conveyed in such a brief span. Her hand, previously resting on your cheek, moves to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair.

Wanda leans in abruptly, her lips crashing into yours in a heated kiss. It's frantic, bordering on reckless, and for a split second, you fear she's glimpsed the war you’re waging with yourself. Her hands cup your face, her fingers digging into your skin, pulling you closer, deeper into the moment.

You respond instinctively, the depth of her kiss stirring a response from within you. Your hands fall on her waist, your nails digging into her flesh. Her shirt has ridden up, and you explore the new expanse of smooth skin available to you, causing goosebumps to rise on Wanda’s skin as she feels the heat of your palm against her hardening nipples. 

“W-We should stop,” Wanda manages to utter but it ends in a yelp as you tweak her peaks with purpose.

“Why?” you breathe out against her ear.

“C-Can’t have sex. Doctor’s orders…” Wanda's words falter as she arches her neck, giving way to your lips and tongue as you move your assaults there. 

The words are like a bucket of ice-cold water, and a sigh of frustration escapes your lips. 

“Right.”

You pull back, extracting yourself from the tangle of limbs and heated desire that Wanda has become. Your body screams in protest, a physical ache that leaves you breathless.

Wanda looks up at you with understanding in her eyes. "I know it's hard," she says, her fingers lightly tracing patterns over the exposed skin of your arm. Your eyes, in a moment of weakness, stray to her panties and see the undeniable evidence of her arousal soaking her underwear. You suppress a groan, flopping back onto the bed to keep your impulses in check. Wanda follows suit and lies on her side, facing you.

Nodding, you swallow down the lump in your throat. “It is,” you admit. You let out a deep sigh, pushing away the longing that threatens to consume you. “But it's necessary,” you add, meeting her gaze head-on. Your fingers trace the line of her jaw, your touch light yet full of promise.

“Seems like my dreams will have to pick up where we left off,” you quip, trying to lighten the mood. 

With a tender laugh, she moves closer to you, resting her head on your chest. “By all means, darling,” she whispers against your skin. “Even in dreams, I belong to you.”

Will Wanda still belong to you a year later?

***

“I’ve been thinking…”

Calliope pays close attention to your thoughtful expression as you search your words. 

“Wanda, she's done some amazing things this past year...and all without me by her side,” you say evenly, staring out of her office window. You seem lost in thought, like you're on the verge of an important realization. Patiently, Calliope waits, letting you take your time to reveal them.

A moment of silence follows your confession, you continue gazing out the window.

“And how does that make you feel?” Calliope gently prompts when it becomes clear that you won't say anything else on your own. 

A deep sigh escapes you as you finally return your gaze to your therapist. “Freeing, in a way–yet kind of sad too,” you confess. “I mean, I'm glad. Wanda's strength... her independence. It's one of the things I love about her. But realizing that she doesn't necessarily need me... it's a strange feeling.”

Calliope steeples her fingers together; She wants to tread lightly, to guide you to self-realization without imposing her interpretations onto your experiences.

“I sense that Wanda not ‘necessarily needing’ you is a point of contention for you. Is that right?”

“Uh, yeah, I suppose you could put it that way,” you say, offering her a sad smile.

“Would you mind going into that a bit further, Y/N?” Calliope requests, her tone open and nonjudgmental.

“Yeah, sure,” you begin hesitantly, letting out a small sigh. “I guess you could say... It's like I'm jealous, in a way. It's odd, I know. But when I see her now, how far she's come, the woman she's become since... everything... I can't help but compare it to my own progress.”

“See, I only feel like I truly came back to myself after we reconciled, like I returned to a safe and comfortable cocoon. But Wanda...She's been out there, growing, learning, becoming this incredible person. It's like she's soared to these incredible heights, and I'm still stuck in the same place, trying to catch up.”

You let out a small, hollow chuckle at the irony of your next concern. “And yeah, there's the whole issue of trust. I forgave her for what she did, or at least, I'm trying to. But now I find myself questioning whether I'm good enough for her. I wonder if she deserves someone better, someone who isn't so... diminutive.”

“Feeling 'less than' can be incredibly difficult, especially after experiencing betrayal,” she starts gently. “And it's natural to wonder if the person you love deserves better. But let me remind you, Y/N, that you are not responsible for determining what Wanda deserves or doesn't. Only she can decide that.”

Calliope’s eyes soften as she pauses, letting you absorb her words.

“As for feeling 'diminutive'... Everyone grows at their own pace. Wanda has had her own journey, and you've had yours. There's no definitive timeline or checklist for growth and healing. You are not less valuable or worthy because you perceive yourself as behind her in some way,” she tells you.

The words she speaks should be appeasing, but they just feel empty to you. They're meant to inspire, to motivate, to help, but they don't reach you. They seem to be directed at someone other than the conflicted individual you've become. The detachment is disconcerting, leaving you feeling even more adrift.

With a sigh, you say, “Something happened recently.”

Calliope adjusts the glasses perched on her nose. “Tell me more.”

“Remember Nat? My best friend and Yelena’s sister? She finally talked to me. She, uh, made a suggestion,” you say, shuffling your feet on the carpeted floor. “She thinks my struggles might be more about me than my relationship with Wanda. She suggested I take a year off. To separate from Wanda, to rediscover who I am on my own.”  

Calliope leans back in her chair, taking a moment to consider your words before responding. 

“That's a drastic step,” she acknowledges, her tone neutral. “It's a valid suggestion and one that's often employed in cases where codependency has taken root. As a therapist, I can tell you that taking a step back from a relationship to focus on personal growth can indeed help provide perspective, allow for self-reflection, and foster personal development.”

Her eyes lock onto yours, steady and compassionate. “However,” she continues, “It's a decision you'd have to make with careful consideration. It's not just about time and distance–it's about what you do with that time and how you utilize that distance. Self-discovery requires active engagement. It's not something that just happens.”

You nod in understanding. You haven’t gotten around to thinking about how you will fill that gap year. And it just amplifies Natasha’s belief that you don’t know who you are or what to do with yourself when left to your own devices. 

“What's your instinct telling you, Y/N?” Calliope inquires, taking off her glasses as if to put aside her professional role and connect with you on a more personal level, like a trusted confidant. “Do you feel that taking this time apart from Wanda could help you rediscover who you are outside of your relationship with her?”

You've been so entwined with Wanda for so long, the thought of detaching yourself from her feels like extracting your own heart. A year from her feels more permanent than when you divorced her because you’re not angry this time.

“I don't know…” you admit, your voice becoming thick with emotions. You look down at your hands, flexing them nervously. “Part of me thinks it could help, because… Because it’s getting worse.”

“What is?”

“This… nagging feeling,” you say. “That… That I have to look at her phone, to read all her messages,” you confess, the words leaving your lips in a whisper.Your eyes remain lowered, and your hands betray a subtle tremor as you push forward. “I haven't looked because I can't bring myself to ask Wanda for her permission, and I can't figure out her passcode. And the feeling of jealousy is more frequent now, and it’s not me.”

It feels like a weight has been lifted off your chest as you bare your deepest insecurities to Calliope. The fear of invading Wanda's privacy conflicts with your need for reassurance, for a confirmation that your trust is not misplaced. 

Your confession flows naturally, “I've been under this impression that I need to watch her every move. Yet, I can't shake off the fear that I might overlook something and end up being blindsided again.” There's a pause, followed by a humorless chuckle. “And who am I in all of this mess? If Natasha asked me that question now…” You give a disappointed shake of your head, “I'd probably answer with ‘a bundle of jealousy and insecurity.’”

“I see how that’s extremely difficult for you, Y/N,” she says simply. “You're trying to find out who you are, while at the same time dealing with trust issues. It's like you're walking on a tightrope.”

Tiredness washing over you, you merely hum in agreement, your inner conflict sapping the energy out of you.

“Have you talked to Wanda about this?” Calliope probes, trying to keep the conversation going despite your evident weariness.

“I haven't yet. I'm afraid... I don't want to hurt her, it feels like I've given her false hope.”

“Before you finalize any decision, it would be fair to talk to Wanda. Allow her to give her insights. It's not just about making a decision, it's about including her in the process,” Calliope says. “If you feel that you have already made a decision, tell her before you set any plans in motion. Wanda cares deeply for you and she will understand, no matter what decision you make.”

That's the first piece of advice she's given this session that resonates with you.

“What do you think I should do?” you find yourself asking. The idea of having someone else make this critical decision is temptingly easier. You know how she’s going to respond, but out of desperation, you ask her anyway.

Calliope shakes her head, offering you a knowing smile. 

“Have faith in yourself, in your ability to make the right decisions,” she says.

You bite your lip in resignation. “Can I still come to you for guidance, no matter what I choose in the end?”

“Absolutely,” Calliope nods, seeing the answer to your question in your own eyes before you can even realize it. “We're lucky to live in a time where help can be reached in many ways. As long as you want my help, I'll be here for you.”

***

New Year’s Eve passes by in a blur of fireworks, wine and dancing with Wanda in the kitchen, and the next couple of days slowly settles back to its usual rhythm. The city of Manhattan, once draped in holiday cheer with twinkling lights and a towering Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center, slips back into its usual attire.

The days following the celebration return to their familiar tempo, like a song falling back into its regular beat after an energetic chorus. Street vendors replace holiday markets, and the regular hum of traffic replaces carols and festive laughter.

As the first week of January wraps up, you and Wanda find yourselves back in Calliope's office. The session is spent mostly reflecting on your holiday experiences and discussing the eye-gazing exercise Calliope assigned you both. Wanda's vivid storytelling about your LA trip takes center stage, and you find it challenging to stay engaged in the conversation. 

Time seems to slip through your fingers, and before you know it, Wanda's thanking Calliope for the session, and it's time to leave. Despite your quiet demeanor throughout, Calliope doesn't prod you for it. She seems to understand where your thoughts were wandering. The short nod she gives you before you could leave tells you one thing: Talk to Wanda.

Wanda, on the other hand, hasn't overlooked your frequent distant gazes, seemingly lost in your own world. She hasn't missed the way your eyes fleetingly dart to her buzzing phone, filled with messages from her customers and suppliers, as you wait for dinner to be ready. She notices your attentive ears whenever she's on the phone, not making any attempt to have private conversations away from you. She picks up on the tension in your features when you're out together, and an admirer's gaze lingers on her for a tad too long.

She can't help but notice the way you're always a little bit on edge. It makes her wonder if you’re genuinely content with how things are. If you’re happy with her. If this is really working for you. 

But then, behind closed doors, it’s paradise. 

Because when the lights are out, and it's just the two of you, your name is the only one she knows, the only one she calls out into the quiet of the night.

***

Finally, on a quiet Saturday morning, you wake up before Wanda. You watch her sleep, peaceful and untroubled, and you decide–today is the day.

Taking a deep breath, you gently nudge her awake. She stirs, blinking sleepily at you, and you give her a soft smile.

“Good morning,” you murmur, your fingers gently combing through her hair. Wanda snuggles further into the pillow, attempting to shield her eyes from the morning light. For a while, you let her be, savoring the peaceful moment as long as you can.

“Wanda, we need to talk.”

Your voice carries a certain tone that instantly cuts through her sleepiness, washing away the last traces of sleep from Wanda’s eyes. She shifts slightly, propping herself up, her eyes now fully focused on you.

“Alright,” she says, her voice a hushed whisper.

You run your fingers through your hair nervously, leaning against the headboard with your back turned to her. She watches you intently, and you feel the weight of her gaze as you gather your thoughts. Inhaling deeply, you finally speak, your voice soft and almost trembling.

“When Natasha came to see me, it wasn’t just to say our goodbyes,” you begin, feeling Wanda's breath hitch slightly. Her lack of surprise indicates that she's sensed there's been more to it. She's been waiting patiently for you to share what's been troubling you, and now she can connect the dots. 

Something had changed after the day you spoke with Natasha.

She shifts closer, an instinctual pull towards you for comfort. You don't resist, opening your arm for her so she could tuck herself into the curve of your body, her head finding its familiar resting place against your chest.

“She, uh, made a suggestion that at first sounded fucking ridiculous to me," you say with an empty laugh. “She thinks maybe I–maybe I need some time. To figure things out...about myself, by myself.”

Wanda's hold on you becomes firmer, drawing you in as if she could meld you both into one. The added pressure makes the looming conversation even harder to continue.

“She believes it might be good for me–and, well, us–to take a break. A year apart from each other, to rediscover who I am on my own,” you say and glance down, hoping to catch Wanda's eyes, but you find her eyes tightly shut as if your words have physically wounded her.

There's a pause. A long, deafening silence that you're not sure you can stand for much longer. But when Wanda finally speaks, her voice is calm, and there's a strange kind of acceptance in her eyes when she opens them.

“And what do you think?” she asks softly.

“I... I don't know, Wands,” you confess, the nickname slipping out unintentionally as you feel the cracks in your resolve. “I love you, more than anything. But I also... I also feel lost. And I hate this feeling, this...paranoia...jealousy... It's not me. At least, I don't want it to be me.”

You sense a faint nod from Wanda, drawing a small measure of comfort from her understanding.

“Before I make any decision, I wanted to talk to you,” you say, finally lifting your gaze to meet hers again. “I…” you trail off as you watch a glimmer form in her eyes.

“Wands, what are you thinking?” you ask.

Wanda takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling against yours. “I've noticed,” she admits, her voice so soft it's almost a whisper. “I've seen how you've been pulling away, getting lost in your thoughts. I just... I hoped it was a phase. But even if it were, it hurts to see you like this.”

You nod, your vision becoming a little blurry. This is harder than you thought it would be.

“Have you reconciled with Natasha?” she suddenly asks.

You shake your head no.

Wanda sighs deeply, the corners of her mouth pulling downwards into a deeper frown. “You remember when we first bumped into each other after our divorce, right?” she starts, shifting closer again as she closes her eyes once more. “I was so determined to win you back. But we both know that didn't end up well. I crashed, you left, and I was alone for the first time in a long while.”

Pausing, she takes a moment to recall everything. “Of course, I missed you. But the thing is, after some time, my perspective changed. I wasn't exactly happy, but I found a sense of contentment. I felt... steady, you know?”

Wanda takes a shaky breath, her eyes glazing over with unshed tears. “Then I reached out to you again, for Sparky. Seeing you, talking to you, it made the dormant feelings I had for you flutter back to life. But things were different this time. I'd had some time to really work on myself, to define my identity outside of…you. Beyond just wanting you and being guilty of what I did. I learned so much about myself during that time.”

Wanda pauses, her gaze becoming misty, the emotions she'd been holding back threatening to spill over. 

“And maybe,” she hesitates, her voice becoming thick with tears, “Maybe that's what you need too.”

You stare at the ceiling in silence, the enormity of her words sinking in. Your chest is tight, and your head is spinning. 

“Is that what you want?” you ask. It would be easier if this is what Wanda wants.

“I want you to be happy,” Wanda whispers through a cascade of tears and trembling lips. “No, I need you to be happy.”

You look at her, taking in the raw emotion etched on her face. The tears streaming down her cheeks make your heart constrict with a pain more acute than you thought possible.

“You mean so much to me, Wanda,” you choke out as your own eyes begin to sting. “I need to be certain that I'm not only holding onto you because I'm afraid of being alone... or afraid of who I am without you.”

Wanda shifts, her fingers coming up to touch your face. “We're in this together, aren't we?”

The thought of being without Wanda, even if it's for your own self-improvement, leaves an acrid taste in your mouth. It feels so wrong, and yet, it may be what's necessary for you to find your footing again.

“Yes, but this is something I need to figure out on my own. For us,” you emphasize. “For me.”

She looks away for a moment, struggling with her own emotions. “I want to support you,” she starts, “But the thought of losing you, even for a little while, scares me.”

You swallow hard, your heart heavy. “I know. It terrifies me too. But I need to do this so we can have a chance at a future where I'm not always second-guessing and doubting.”

Wanda bites her lip, thinking. After what feels like hours, she finally speaks, “Whatever you decide, just... promise me one thing?”

You nod, urging her to continue.

“That you'll come back to me. No matter what you find or how you change, always come back to me,” she says. “And I promise I’ll always be there, waiting for you.”

“One year,” you whisper as your face becomes wet with tears. No contact. No calls, no emails, no texts. No checking up on each other online. 

Total disconnection.

“A year later, on this day,” Wanda nods despite herself. “We’ll meet again at Second Chances.” Her lips twitch into a tentative, poignant smile, alluding to the deeper sentiment that the name of her coffee shop embodies.

Wanda's tear feels warm against your thumb as you gently wipe it away. You're both quiet for a while, the room filled only with the soft sounds of your breathing and the muted ticking of a nearby clock. The decision has been made, the terms agreed upon, and now there is nothing left but to savor these final moments of togetherness.

“Can we... can we just hold each other?” you ask quietly. It's a small comfort, but right now, it's everything. You need to feel her close to you, to memorize the feel of her body against yours before you part ways.

Wanda shakes her head, her eyes burning with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. She needs more than just that.

“Touch me,” she breathes, her words melting into your mouth as she captures your lips in a feverish kiss. “Let me give you everything,” she implores, her hands finding yours in the darkness as her eyes fall shut.

Complying with her heartfelt request, you gently ease her back onto the mattress, your bodies tangled together in a dance as old as time.

And then, in what feels like the mere flutter of a heartbeat, it's a year later.

Taglist: @canvascoloredin | @justgotlizzied , @casquinhaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @sunsol-22 | @wandanatlov3r | @kyaraderuwez | @justyourwritter69 | @stanolsevans | @aliherreraaa | @diaryoflife| @justagurlwholikes | @lizziesplant | @cowxpoke | @sokovianbaby| @swiftie1-0-1 | @scarlettbitchx | @tercerspirit-22 | @hyper-fixated-delusions

[beautifulgirl223]

Intoxicating

Y'all, I'm in love with him. Like there is not enough text out there that will ever cure my depravity when it comes to how much I think about this man. He's out of character here I'm sure but I wish I could care. This is Rayleigh's character to me and honestly I'm the only one I care about.

About 5.5k words

CW: afab reader, use of she/her pronouns, cunnilingus (fem receiving), slight breeding kink, praise kink

Intoxicating. 

Everything about him made you desperately want more. He was addicting in his actions, his words, and how he treated you. Sometimes you were scared of how intense your feelings for him were.

But little did you know, he had it much worse when it came to you. 

***

She happily waved to the Straw Hats alongside Shakky and Rayleigh as they made their way off of the Archipelago and to the New World. 

“I’m excited to hear what they get up to next. They really know how to liven up the place!” Your eyes stayed on the ship until it was no longer in sight. With a slight smile you sighed. “I’m gonna miss them. Hope I can drink with them again sometime in the future.”

Rayleigh snaked his arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him. “I’m sure you’ll get another chance sometime in the future sweetheart. I have a strong feeling that this won’t be the last time you’ll see them,” he chuckled. Placing a kiss atop your head as you cuddled into him. 

“I’ll miss them, but I’m happy to have you back,” you said, fully turning into his embrace for a hug. 

“What do you mean? After leaving Luffy on Rusukaina I’ve been back here, with you. I would never leave either of you unless I had to sweetheart,” he pulled you away from his chest so he could look down into your eyes, also giving a look over to Shakky.

All she did was shrug. She knew how he was, she didn’t need the reminder. But apparently the new addition to their relationship wasn’t as well-versed on how Rayleigh operated. 

“I knowwww,” you said with an embarrassed tone to your voice. “It’s just…”

He looked at her expectantly without saying anything. His expression speaking for him.

He could tell  by the way your cheeks were heating up that you were struggling to share how you felt. Even though you tried to hide it from him – which you were quickly learning was impossible due to a little thing called Haki (which you only knew about through him)  – he was able to detect how you were feeling based on your body language.

Embarrassed. 

“Of course I’m happy you helped the Straw Hats out. You’re amazing and generous as always Silvers…I just…” you averted his eyes, finding your nails much more interesting at the moment. 

That was until he gently grabbed your chin with his finger and thumb to look him in his eyes, demanding your full attention.

“I know it’s selfish of me…I just missed your attention is all…”

He didn’t say anything else as his mind recalled the last two years. While it’s true that he didn’t stay with Luffy the full two years during his training, even when he came back home, most of his time was spent covertly watching over their ship and waiting for their inevitable return back to the Archipelago. 

His heart hurt at the fact that you were right. He had been neglecting you when he didn’t even mean to. And here you were admitting so sweetly that you missed him. 

Oh. He was going to make up for lost time immediately.

The look in his eyes must have given away his intentions as Shakky looked over at the two of them and rolled her eyes lovingly. “I’m going back to the bar to serve the customers because you know, that’s how I get paid around here. Just don’t break the bed this time Rayleigh” she scoffed as she walked away towards the bar, lighting her next cigarette.

Rayleigh chuckled as he heard an embarrassed whine coming from the woman buried in his chest. Picking you up and following Shakky to the bar with the intention of going straight to their shared bedroom. You wrapped your legs around him so that you didn’t fall now that your feet weren’t on the ground. Not that he would ever let you fall from his arms. 

“You’ve been so patient with me haven’t you baby? I didn’t mean to neglect you sweetheart. Let me make it up to you, yeah?”

***

So maybe you had an idea of what was going to happen when you admitted to wanting his attention back, but you had no idea it was going to be like this. How did Shakky survive so long?

Rayleigh had to relearn what restraint was the moment he finally had you laid out bare on the bed underneath him. It was hard to think of anything else but you when you were looking at him so desperately… so ready for him to take care of you.

He could tell you were needy from the look in your eyes, and he’d be damned if he didn’t take care of his sweet girl’s needs after he’s neglected them for so long.

“You missed me sweet girl?” he asked, ghosting his lips over yours, kissing everywhere but where you wanted him most. His hands wandered across your body as if he were learning you for the first time. You both had done this many times before, yet he was always amazed at how soft your body was in comparison to his. How your skin felt underneath his hands. Every single inch of your body, your soul…just you, was intoxicating.

You whine and pull his lips onto yours in response to his question. His lands leaving a trail of fire everywhere he touched. It was amazing how was able to melt your brain with only gentle caresses, but he did so without fail each time. Whining as he pulled away from the kiss, immediately missing his lips, and he groaned at the noise you made. 

If he looked hard enough, he was sure that deep within your lust filled eyes, he could make out little hearts in them as you stared up at him. Being so patient and waiting once again for him to take care of you. His hand made its way to your neck and squeezed gently. The full power and control you willingly submitted to him made him dizzy. He was going to ruin you.

“I’m sorry I made you wait sweetheart. You’ve been such a good girl being all patient for me haven’t you?” he cooed at you. Quickly nodding your head in agreement. Already drunk off his praise.

“Y-yes, I’ve been good,” you whimpered in response. Waiting on him to continue.

“I know, baby. I’m so sorry I haven’t been giving you the attention you needed. I’m gonna make it up to you okay? My sweet sweet girl deserves a reward for being so good, yeah?” He lightly pinched one of your nipples. Not bothering to hide the shit-eating grin on his face at how your body immediately reacted to his touch. He was addicted to how responsive you were to him. Even if it was involuntary, it let him know that he was doing something right. 

He released your neck as he took his own shirt off. Allowing you a moment to rediscover his body. Taking pride in how you shamelessly eye fucked him. He even let you pull him down for another kiss. Sighing at the skin on skin contact. He didn’t even realize how much his own body missed yours until he was finally over you.

He pulled away from your mouth as he smiled sweetly to you. “What’s the safe word sweetheart,” he tapped the side of your face to make sure you were listening, immediately recognizing the spacey look forming on your face. He couldn’t get started just yet until he knew you would be alright. 

“Haki,” you said with a smile. Being able to find your voice for the first time in the last few minutes. 

“There you go…” he whispered. 

You drive him crazy with the innocent look on your face despite knowing exactly how depraved your mind was in that moment. Knowing how he’s the last one who will get to see you like this brings him a high he will never tire of.

He makes his way down your body all while keeping eye contact with you until he reaches the lower half of your body. He grabs a pillow from the top of the headboard and shoves it underneath your hips. He gently rubs your legs in a comforting manner while he slowly forces them apart. 

He breaks eye contact and mentally curses himself for not tending to you sooner. He wonders how long you went just thinking of him, how often you missed his touch, how often you craved him. 

He groans appreciatively at the sight of you spread out in front of him. Your extreme arousal was evident in the way it flowed from you. Suddenly he was dehydrated and his eyes glossed over as if he found a never ending source of hydration. His hands made their way to the back of your thighs as his patience was starting to thin. He coaxed the back of your thighs before he cupped the back of your knees and pushed them up towards your chest and laid his arm out over your legs to keep you completely open and bent.

You whimpered at his strength and how easily he maneuvered your to his liking. Turned on by the way his strength made you feel small and protected. you didn’t even realize that he had guided your hands to his hair until you felt his fingers run along the slit of your core and teasingly circle your clit. The touch took you by surprise as you gripped at his head between your legs. 

“Who got you this excited sweetheart? Surely it couldn’t have been this old man,” he teased as he continued to toy with you. Smiling at the way your breath hitched at his touch.

“You did, only you Silvers,” you whimpered. your hips jolted when he pressed his finger into you. He blew air onto your core, and he felt himself harden even more at the way your body winked at him. your body’s promise to him of how amazing you would feel wrapped around him. 

While you laid spread out in front of Rayleigh, all you could think about was how easily he could ruin you. He could ask you to go after the One Piece yourself and you would agree in an instant if it meant that he would never stop touching you. you wanted him to please you until you were brainless. Until the only thing you could think about was him. He could take you right now and all you would be able to do is thank him. 

“Please Silvers, I’ve been so good, please just -” he cut you off with a stroke of his tongue from your entrance to your clit. The moan you let out – pornographic and needy.

“Don’t beg,” he states, staring at you. “You never have to beg me for anything sweetheart. Anything you want. It’s yours.”

He pressed his arm harder into your legs to keep you still, and brought his other hand to spread you open for him. Mouth watering at the sight of you and the thought of making you come undone with only his mouth. 

Sure, he sailed with the King of the Pirates, but nothing made him feel more powerful than the way your body reacted to just his mouth. 

They both moaned at the same time. yours at the slight feeling of relief, and his at the taste of you that he missed so much. He licks and sucks everywhere he can get his mouth to, and groans at the feeling of you tugging at his hair. He has to press his arm down a bit more, because your body immediately tries to up the friction, trying to grind yourself into his mouth as much as you can. 

He greedily licked up your arousal as his eyes looked up from between your legs. Smirking at the sight of your already fucked out face. Your eyes blurry from unshed tears as your mouth opened in silence.

“You gotta breathe baby,” he muttered against you.

Releasing the breath you didn’t realize you were holding  “Thank you thank you thank you” you chanted as he continued to ruin you with only his mouth. It was quickly becoming too much too fast. As worked up as you were, you knew you weren't going to last long with how well he was working on unraveling you.

Your body tensed as you felt him insert a finger into you. Her body clamped down on the intrusion, happy to no longer be empty. 

“Gods you’re so tight sweetheart,” he groaned at the feeling of you around his finger. Knowing that you were going to feel even better around him. “Loosen up for me, yeah?” His mouth closed around your clit and sucked. Her body buzzed beneath him. All he could focus on was you. you overwhelmed his senses in the best way possible. 

It only took a few moments before he was inserting another finger into you. you cried out as he began to stretch you out. The tension in your lower body was growing tighter and tighter by the second. Her toes were curling as your breaths became even more labored. 

“S-Silvers! S-slow down. I’m-I’m,” you cut yourself off with a scream as he massaged the spot inside of you that you were never able to reach yourself. 

Rayleigh paid your words no mind as he continued to push you to your finish. While you may have been saying one thing, your body could never lie, and told him exactly what you needed. He knew you were close. And there was no way he wouldn’t give his baby what he knew she needed.

“You gonna make a mess on my face pretty girl? You gonna cum for me, beautiful?” he said as his pace increased. His fingers relentlessly hitting that spot inside of you as he watched you furiously nod your head. He hummed in approval as he continued to lap at your clit. The way he massaged you inside and out made your hips attempt to buck into his face. 

He grows harder at the sound of your voice moments before you came undone. you probably didn’t even realize that your voice started to get high pitched and whiny as you tried to warn him of your inevitable fate. With one last stroke of his tongue, and one last thrust of his fingers you started to scream. 

You looked ethereal as you reached your climax. He groans as you tugs at his hair, but he doesn’t let up. He continues to slam his fingers into her as her walls clenched at his fingers. 

The tension in your body felt like a rubber band that had been pulled so taut that eventually it snapped. Your orgasm crashed on you so strongly that instinctively you tried to move away from the constant pleasure that Rayleigh gave you. His arm pressed into the back of your things prevented you from doing so. The next best thing was to grip his hair as you rode out your climax. you threw your head back in silence as you took in a deep breath and screamed.

Rayleigh continued to work you through your orgasm while listening to the beautiful sounds that fell from your mouth. He grinded himself into the bed at the sound of your voice. It was a mixture of moans and his name. And he knew right then that his name never sounded better than when it was coming from your mouth.

Without relenting, he continued to caress you with his mouth, only slowing up a little when he felt your body relax a bit after that high. Only giving you a moment of rest, knowing that he wasn’t going to stop there. He wanted to force your mind into a state of overstimulated bliss. And he knew exactly how to do that. 

you tried to wiggle out of his grasp and away from his sinful ministrations. you needed a break after having an orgasm that strong, but the pressure on your legs became stronger. you was still rendered immobile and at the mercy of Silvers Rayleigh.

“Silvers, p-please. It’s too much,” you whined. Her mind was fuzzy at best. Still floating somewhere above your body and you couldn’t bring it back down. 

“But I thought you wanted my attention?” he teased from between your legs. He pulled his fingers from you and shoved them in your mouth to keep you quiet. “I know when you’ve had too much sweetheart, and right now, your body is telling me you haven’t had enough.”

This time he took his mouth off your clit to let you have a moment before he forced his tongue into you. A completely different feeling than his fingers, as your body tensed in appreciation. Groaning at the taste of your climax, he dug his tongue as deep as it could go into you. His nose bumping against your clit as he did so. 

“Oh fuck oh fuck fuck fuck…” you chanted at the feel of his tongue in you. He expertly explored every inch of you that he could reach while building you up again. He bobbed his head between your legs as he drank every ounce your body so generously gave. If he could spend the rest of his life in this moment, he thinks he would never leave. Thankful for the fact that you chose him. That you allowed him to be the one who you allowed to please you. He wanted to spend the rest of his life thanking you for that fact.

He took his fingers from your mouth and brought them back down to your core. Now that they were wet with your own saliva, he brought them to your clit, and rubbed it to the same pace as his tongue. Your body the instrument he knew how to play best. 

It didn’t take long at all before another orgasm washed over you. Not as powerful as the first, but just as satisfying. The feeling of being restrained making it that much better. 

You felt as if you could breathe again now that he finally decided that you had enough. He pulled his face away from you and gently released your legs. They flopped back down onto the bed as you were unable to control them. You watched as Rayleigh made his way up your body until he eventually made it to your face.

“You doin alright sweetheart?” he asked with a big smile on his face. You said nothing as you pulled him down for a kiss. You moaned at the taste of yourself on his lips and in his mouth. You tried to win the fight to see who would lead the kiss, but you lost immediately. Happily surrendering to the gentle caresses of Rayleigh. 

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, enjoying being with each other in a moment of peace. But it was only a matter of time before you became needy again. Your hands drifting down to the waistband of his pants. Clumsily fumbling with the fabric between your fingers. 

“Take these off” you mumbled into his mouth as he pulled away to take a breath. He chuckled at your eagerness. 

“Should I? Cause I remember distinctly a few moments ago when you said it was ‘too much’ and how you wanted me to stop,” he teased. His smirk growing bigger at the sight of your lips forming into a pout.

Your fingers finally made their way under the waistband as it was your turn to ignore his words. You shimmed them down, until he finally caved and took the rest of them off himself. Your mouth watered at the sight of him. 

Silvers Rayleigh was an attractive man in his younger years as he sailed with Roger. But how he looked then has nothing on what he looks like now as an older man. Nothing about him said old unless you account for the gray hair atop his head. Even in his old age, he looked as good as he did when he was younger. Even better now. And that even went for what he held between his legs. 

Your mouth watered at the sight of him. Wanting nothing more than to take him into your mouth. It was almost as if he read your mind as he brought your attention back to him. 

“Let me just take care of you, okay sweetheart? We’ve the rest of our lives for you to-” you whined in embarrassment.

“Silverssss don’t say it” he laughed at your bashfulness. 

“Sweetheart…I just had my head between your legs and you just finished screaming to high heavens, and you're embarrassed about how-” You pulled him down to cut him off. You couldn’t help what you were embarrassed by.

He relented with a smile as he kissed you back.

“You ready sweetheart?” he asked. You could sense a little restraint in his voice as he rubbed himself against you. Sliding himself along your center, letting the wet mess he left between your legs transfer onto him as well. 

You eagerly nod, excited to have him properly fuck you. 

“I gotta hear you ask for it,” he teased kissing along the expanse of your neck. “Let me hear you ask me, yeah?”

Knowing you weren’t going to get your way unless you did as he asked, you swallowed the last embarrassment you had in your body. There was no way you were going to cheat yourself out of this after so long just because some things made you embarrassed. You already knew he was going to make you feel amazing, so you just had to give in.

“Yes. I’m ready, please fuck me,” you asked quietly as you wrapped your legs around him in an attempt to bring him closer.

Grabbing your hips to pull you closer, he pushed himself into you. Groaning at how you felt. Moving slowly until he completely bottomed out, his hips touching yours. His breathing turned a bit heavy as he waited for you to adjust to him. 

It really must have been a while due to how you both reacted. No matter how many times the two of you had slept together, somehow it always felt like the first. 

Intoxicating.

You felt full as you grabbed at his back to pull him in. His muscles stiff beneath your fingers as you grasp at his shoulders for purchase. 

He slowly pulls all the way out to force himself back in. 

“Still so tight for me princess,” he groans as he begins to thrust into you, “gonna be good and let me use you hmm?”

“Yes yes yes please use me,” you don’t care how pathetic you sound. You were finally getting what you craved for so long. You were needy and you knew he was going to take care of you. 

He folds her legs once more so that your knees are bent near your chest while your feet dangle by his ear. He uses his body weight to slam into you, driving you up the bed. He ruts desperately into you, addicted to how you feel squeezing around him. 

His thrusts are rough and punishing and the tip of him kisses the back of you, kissing your cervix each time he bullied his way into you.

Your eyes quickly glazed over once again and the nonstop pressure of him knocking into your spot. The constant bombardment of him forcing himself into you too much for you to take at once, yet you needed more. 

Resting your ankles onto his shoulders, he leaned forward to capture you in another kiss. Trying to hold himself out longer. How you were looking at him combined with the sinful noises falling out of your mouth with how tight, wet, and hot you felt around him, he wasn’t going to last much longer.

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease don’t stop please please,” you breathily chanted in his ear. You were close to your third orgasm of the night and needed him to give you everything. 

He brought one hand and grabbed at your neck, while the other slid down your body and began to rub hasty circles onto your clit.

“Gonna be a good girl and cum on me? I wanna see you lose yourself again pretty girl,” he praised as he worked you to your end. His pace never faltered as he leaned over and put more of his weight onto your body.

Intoxicating. That’s all Rayleigh could think of as he fucked you deeply into the mattress. The sound of your skin slapping against him made him groan at the filthy thought. He wanted to make sure you never felt forgotten again, and with the way you were babbling nothing but his name, it was safe to say that he achieved his goal. That and how adorable you looked losing yourself over his dick.  Over him. “...only you Silvers…” your previous words coming back to the forefront of his mind. You were going to make him lose his mind.

You let him use your body, scratching at his back as he forcefully brings you closer and closer to a praecipe. 

Maybe it was because you were overstimulated. Maybe it was because it had been so long since the two of you slept together. Or maybe it was because of how he played your body perfectly…something about this orgasm felt different.  You placed your hands on his hips trying to slow him down. “Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck w-wait s-slow d-down Silvers!” You squeal. The back of your thighs tensing against his chest. You felt as if your body was trying to leave you.

He only held you a little tighter response. He’s got you right where he wanted you.Your body may try and leave you, but he would make sure it stayed exactly where he wanted it to in his hold.

He was going to be the death of you…but you craved him all the same.

You tried to hold out. You were about to make a mess and it didn’t seem like he cared. To be completely honest, it kinda felt like he knew that and continued his brutal pace anyway. His hips move in an almost primal way. It was as if he was digging the orgasm from deep within you.

“Just let go for me sweetheart…I got you, I promise,” he whispered in your ear.

Turns out, that was the final straw as you finally let yourself fall over into bliss. Rayleigh continued to fuck you through it all while praising you. Holding your body to the mattress so you didn’t ruin your own orgasm.

“There she goesssss, come on baby,” he grunted, bullying his way into your contracting walls. He wanted you to milk him dry. The way you were squeezing him made his pace falter. “You’re being so good f ‘me hmm?”

This time you did actually forget how to breathe as your mouth was open in a silent scream. Your nails scratched at his back as your third orgasm washed over you almost painfully. It took you by surprise how strongly it came. It was so earth shattering that you actually started to cry. 

“Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou…” he groans at your words. At how you thank him for how he makes you feel, when he should be the one thanking you. He moans when he feels how wet you’ve gotten, realizing that he’s made you squirt. It wasn’t his intention this time, but he’s saved this information for the next time he’s got you trapped underneath him. 

“What a messy baby hmm?”

His heart swells as he looks down at you. A heavenly sight that he feels lucky enough to have gotten the chance to see. Let alone be the reason he could even have the view. 

“Where do you want me,” he growls into your ear, “tell me where you want me baby?” he asks kissing behind your ear, removing his hands from your neck and clit. Moving them to rest on both sides of your head. 

“Want you inside,” she cries, “I wanna be full of you Silvers.”

In that moment Rayleigh would do anything you asked him to. If you wanted him to build you a ship and sail you to the New World, he’d do it without an ounce of shame and with a smile on his face. Anything for his baby girl.

“That’s my girl. Let me take care of you baby…” trapping your legs between the two of you, and used you to chase his own end. With only a couple more thrusts he bottomed out completely and finished deep inside with your name as a whisper on his breath. You feel amazing as you take everything he has to offer as he lightly thrusts into you. Finishing with a deep groan into your ear. He quietly keeps you flushed to him as he rocks into you, his way of silently worshiping you and your body. His way of thanking you for trusting him. The silence not needing to be filled as the unspoken words say enough. 

He lowers himself closer to your front, as your legs slowly let go of his abdomen. He places lazy kisses along your neck as the both of you try to catch your breath. You two sit in silence for a moment before he slowly pulls himself from you. He covers himself as he quickly leaves the room to grab you a glass of water. 

He comes back with a warm rag along with a glass of water. He sets the water down on the bedside table and gently begins to clean you up. His movements slow and calculated, being careful to not wipe too harshly in fear of overstimulating you anymore. When he cleans you up to his liking, he tosses the rag into the hamper in the corner of the room and guides you to sit up in bed.

“Drink some water for me princess,” he coos. You blush as the older man dotes on you and you do as he says, sitting up and taking small sips of the water. All you wanted to do was lay and cuddle with him, as your preferred method of aftercare, but you knew that he was just doing what he needed to before he indulged.

After you drank what he felt was enough, he took the glass from you, took a large sip himself and set the glass back on the table. He laid back into bed and pulled you onto his front so that you could lay your head on his chest. 

“How are you feeling sweetheart? You back with me?” He rubbed your back and brought the blankets up to cover your body as he stroked your hair. He knew that after a passionate session, you typically needed coaxing to come back to reality. It was his favorite way of taking care of you. Having you lay here completely vulnerable while you placed your complete trust in him made his heart soar. He would never dream of taking advantage of what the two of you have built.

You answered him with a hum, snuggling more into his chest, chasing after the warmth his body provided. Your eyes started closing to the feel of his hands rubbing soothing patterns on you.

“I’m…perfect,” you manage to say after finding your voice. Your voice was a bit scratchy, but you laid there wholeheartedly happy and satisfied. Knowing he wouldn’t be happy until he heard your voice. 

“You did so well for me princess. Was it okay? Did I go too hard on you?” He asked a bit worriedly. While you never said your safe word, he couldn’t help but be a little worried after each session. Wanting to make sure that he only ever made you feel good. 

“You were perfect Silvers. Honestly, I’d like it if you were a little more rough with me. Not that rough everytime, but…ya know,” she said as she traced her finger up and down his abs. Sex with Rayleigh most of the time was soft and slow. And while you didn’t have a problem with it (Rayleigh made sure you were satisfied each time), being manhandled is something that you wish would happen a bit more often. It melts your heart that this strong man treats you with the fragility and tenderness of ceramic, but you like to be broke once in a while.

“Strongly noted,” he chuckled as he placed a kiss on top of your head. “Shakky will be happy I didn’t break the bed this time.”

“Yeah well, with how you had me folded, I’m surprised I didn’t break,” she giggled. 

“Well if you want me to break you then you only need to ask,” he teased as one of his hands snaked down to your ass and gave it a slight squeeze. 

“Strongly noted.”

***

Literally foaming at the mouth I love him so much we're actually married. Shakky and I tease him all the time

[ser-rctslcyer]

Pairing: Poe Dameron x GN! Reader  Word Count: 2.3k Synopsis: Poe takes a much needed break during his mission, but he comes across his crush on an assignment on their own. Warnings: Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Crushes, Flirting, Banter, Developing Relationship, Poe Dameron is Bad at Feelings A/N: I’ve missed this flyboy very much and have been dying for some banter with him.

Poe rolled his neck, once and then twice again, sighing at every little pop until his shoulders felt a little less tight. Once he felt somewhat better, he hopped out of his ship and let out BB-8. He loved his X-Wing more than anything, but it was tiresome whenever he hit parts where he was just flying for nearly weeks on end. Thankfully he finally found somewhat of a safe planet to be on and he’d be damned if he didn’t give himself a moment to stretch out his legs before the next big push. His mission was greatly important after all and would change the fate of The Resistance. 

For right now though, he needed a break. 

Casually he walked through the inner city, keeping a pretty neutral expression as he looked around. It seemed the locals were all preparing for a festival of some sort as smiles and laughter could be heard from everyone. He looked for signs where he could get something to drink, lucking out as he rounded the corner to the sight of a bar. As he got to the bar table, he ordered something light; carefully observing his surroundings before enjoying himself. He had barely had a third of his drink when he caught sight of a familiar jacket passing by. 

‘What are you doing out here?’ his brows furrowed as he tracked you until finally you were out of sight. BB-8 buzzed, a teasing tone, somehow knowing who he saw, and Poe rolled his eyes. He downed the rest of it as quickly as possible and paid, before bolting out the building. When he arrived at the spot, he peered around until he saw you again and a smile fluttered across his lips. By all means it wasn’t rare to run across another rebel during missions but in this case, it was a very welcomed surprise. He wouldn’t be half as happy as he was right now if it was not you; his crush. He straightened out his shirt, tugged at his jacket, and then cleared his throat. He approached cautiously, coming around the side so you’d catch him in your peripheral since your gaze was focused elsewhere. 

“You know, I’m pretty sure you could’ve finished that fruit several bites ago,” he commented, and your eyes turned to him; filled with intent, they relaxed as you recognized him. “Unless you're preoccupied with something else?” he softly hinted, catching the stormtroopers you had been staring at as he looked back at you.

“If it isn’t you, Dameron. Isn’t this sector a little too far for you to be out here?” you raised your brow questioningly, taking an extra cheeky small bite with a grin. His heart hammered in his chest as he grinned back, turning to face you fully. 

“Eh, you know how I am. I prefer the much more complex route to my assignments,” he shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest to keep himself from fidgeting with his jacket coat. 

“Trust me, I’m pretty sure the entire resistance is aware of that,” you trailed off with a soft chuckle and Poe couldn’t help but beam. He always enjoyed the laughs he’d somehow manage to get out of you even though you were both on two different squads. He had been quite bothersome trying to get information out of others about you without sounding like a complete creep. The fact you knew something of him besides his rank, made his crush on you grow even bigger. 

“So how’s your mission going?”

“Pretty easy for now, started with a bit of a blaster fight but I managed to smooth things out,” you finish the last of your food before leaning against the wall; your focus all the way on him. “How about you?”

“I haven’t gotten to see nearly as much action as you yet, it’s been pretty simple so far.” he sighed, trying to play it cool. 

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to make it a little tougher for yourself,” you nudged him and Poe could’ve sworn his heart had skipped a beat. 

“You flatter me,” he responded slyly, nudging you back which made you laugh again. Maker, if only he could hear that noise every day. 

“As everyone does, I’m sure,” your eyes briefly leave his, as if you were somewhat saddened by your own words. It was silent, the noises from everyone else filling in the room between the both of you. 

“This is just a pit stop,” he added quickly, looking back at you.

“Oh really?”  

“Yeah, don’t you know this place has some of the most beautiful fireworks you’ll ever see in this sector?” he gestured to all the decorations around you, the feeling of joy lay thick in the air between you both. 

“No, I didn’t,” you glance around the street before looking back at him. “Though if you have a moment whenever you're done oogling fireworks, I could use your assistance?” you inquire with a little knowing looking. 

“I’ve got time,” he tipped his head, gesturing for you to lead the way. 

“So when you said you needed my assistance,” Poe kept his focus forward, adjusting his grip on his blaster before glancing back, “you meant you just need my droid?” He watched as  BB-8’s scomp link sped up the process on your datapad, as you kneeled tapping away a different encryptions. 

“Well yes, but also I do appreciate the extra bit of company,” you threw a wink back at him and Poe rolled his eyes, turning away before you could catch his idiotic grin. Right on time, his droid chimed in; jabbing at his feelings again by exposing how mopey he got when he went on long missions alone. “See even BB knows, it can be lonely traveling alone for missions.”

“And you appreciate having a lookout,” he added, waving his blast behind him for a moment before resuming position. Though he was being a bit snarky, he was going to make sure he did his part; the last thing he was going to have was you mad at him. 

“C’mon, how could I turn down our best pilot for some help?” you argued, tapping a little faster before your pad began again. “You’ve got sharper eyes than most of us.”

“I’m perfect, I know,” he spoke confidently, turning around to wink at you.

“Damn right.” you cheered quietly and Poe felt his cheeks heat up. He shook his head of thoughts, keeping a careful eye for any movement or noise. It wasn't too long before he heard a familiar mechanical click from his droid.  

“Got it,” he turned just in time to see you giving a thumbs-up to his droid which BB reciprocated, rolling in a little happy circle of his own. He gave a once over to the rest of the building, catching sight of no one close before he went to look what your prize. 

“And what exactly do you have?”

“Plans, list, everything the First Order has right now, that they’ve been using to keep tabs on in this sector.”

“Shit.”

“You tell me,” you smile widely, and Poe wished he could’ve bent down and kissed you there. He watched as you pulled out a different tablet and began transferring data.

“You’re gonna put it back?”

“Once this is all copied, I’m going to upload this,” you wave the other drive you had in your satchel. “It’s a simple little virus, so any copies they will try to make will seem like nothing more than a hardware crash.”

“Look at you, The Resistance’s best hacker,” he commended, watching you look away with a smile. Just like you said, the copied load and then you put in your virus, both swift and it was easy to put back in place. You both made sure everything was secure and put back into place so that no suspicion would be drawn. He made sure to watch your back as you led him through your exit strategy until it came time to leave the premises, that’s when you stopped. 

“Maker, there’s more stormtroopers than before,” you groaned, crouching lower to make sure you wouldn’t be caught as you observed your surroundings.

“Probably the festival goers pushed them all back in,” he added and you let out a disgruntled sigh. The two of you looked for some sort of opening when his eyes caught something and he nudged you. 

“I have an idea.”

“What?”

“Follow me,” he slowly made his way to the opposite side of the platform, ducking behind crates and other such things. He stopped at the edge, perfectly hidden behind a stack of barrels before climbing upward and pulling down some of the stray decorations that dangled close by. When climbed back down he could see the confusion in your eyes as he handed you a bundle of streamers, lights, and other such decorations

“Throw’em over you,” he began putting some over himself and then over BB while you stood there in shock.

“Poe?”

“You just have to trust me, sweetheart,” he put his hand on your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze before you started putting the decorations on yourself. He helped you, putting your satchel in front of you and draping stuff over it to make it inconspicuous. Both of your eyes meet once he finishes, staring deeply at one another until he grabbed your hand.

“Just follow my lead.”

“Poe–” you’re cut off as he rushes the two of you out into the open. He begins to laugh and chuckle, talking with you about the festival as the two of you rush toward the rambunctious crowd in the streets. Obeying his order, you mimic him, laughing and chuckling as you get to the crowd and assimilate in. You can hear the troopers behind you berate you both but no shouting in attempts to question you; they must’ve assumed you both and the droid were celebrating a little too hard. 

Even though you are both far out of earshot, Poe keeps a good grip on your hand; leading you through the alleyways until you both end up on the main road. As he gently pushed through the crowd he came to stop once you reached the middle, BB keeping close to your leg. Before you can question him, a loud whistle flies high into the sky, and as you look up, bright colorful lights explode over you. The crowd cheers and celebrates as you stare in awe before looking back at him. 

“See, I told you this planet had the most beautiful fireworks,” he whispered, squeezing your hand as he looked at you softly. The beautiful flashy lights reflect off of his eyes and you can’t help but think he is perfect just like this. You can barely remember you need to respond when Poe’s eyes grow with worry before his hand begins to pull away. 

“Sorry, I can get a little too excited sometimes,” he chuckled, awkwardly looking away.

“No, no, it’s alright,” on instinct you grab his hand again, giving it a squeeze of your own this time. His nervousness seemed to still the moment he looked back at you, and the two of you stood there with locked eyes. 

Everything else faded around both of you, your attention purely on one another. The two of you stepped closer without even realizing it until you were only a breath away. Poe, being who he was, closed the gap; softly sealing his lips yours. You melted against him, a sign of relief leaving you at the feeling of his tongue; a kiss so tender yet wanting. His warm hands roam over your sides, kneading and grazing over your hips. Even with your eyes shut you could see the fireworks popping over the both of you for what felt like an eternity until a familiar beeping caught you off guard.

“What?” you asked in a daze, worried something was wrong. It wasn’t until the droid repeated that you let out a snort followed by laughter while Poe rolled his eyes and sighed. 

“Thank you BB, I’m sorry you're scarred for life,” he groaned, gesturing to the droid to look away; BB listened, begrudgingly beeping angrily. 

“What a romantic you are, huh?” you pant quietly, twiddling your fingers over the curls at the base of his neck, which gets his attention. Kissing me while fireworks are going off.”

“I’m sorry, baby; I couldn’t help myself,” he grinned licking over his own lips before stealing another kiss.

Humming, you throw your arms over him deepening the kiss which seems to make him happy. Poe’s hands land on your hips and pull you closer. Quiet noises left the both of you, from every little nip, lick, or suckle and neither of you seemed to get enough. Both of you seem determined to fill in for the lost time you spent only gazing at one another secretly. Things were heating up until you both heard the incessant beeping which made you pull away. Poe was about to look down at BB when he realized it was coming from him. He fumbled through his pocket for a second before finding his pager which was making the noise and flashing; his mission was back in progress– he frowned.

“I think I’m out of time,” he let out a meek chuckle, pressing his forehead against yours. 

“It’s fine,” you cup his face, trying to pull him ever closer; your lips brushing softly over each other. “We can always pick this back up later when we're both at base.”

“I like the sound of that,” he smiled, rubbing his nose against yours as he closed his eyes for a second. 

“Figured you would, flyboy,” you tease, kissing the tip of his nose. The two of you stare at each other a moment more before pulling away; Poe holding both one of your hands gently.

“Stay safe, Poe,” you squeeze it and he does the same. 

“You too.” 

The two of you finally pull away before going your separate ways, thinking of the million different things you’d say to each other the next time you were home.

[oven-thermometer]

Don’t Ask.

Summary: Damian needs a place to spend the night, somewhere he won’t be riddled with questions – somewhere he’d feel safe. Jason’s place just seems to materialise. 

(NOT A SHIP)

a/n: my bff and I made a sims world for dc and cod characters. that’s how this started. enjoy. This is a hurt/comfort if you were wondering. 

Warnings: mentions of abuse, violence, past trauma, swearing, the author has never written for dc before, spelling mistakes problably.

w/c: 4.7k

It was raining when Jason pushed the doors open. He had been sitting in that stuffy room in a sharing circle for what felt like hours. He hadn’t spoken much in today’s session, not that he minded. He preferred the days were he could sit back and silently make his own judgements about the other people sitting in shitty plastic chairs, pouring their hearts out for six strangers and one mildly qualified doctor.

A soft hand touched his arm as he stared listlessly at the wet parking lot. Turning his head, he found the comforting smile of Meemaw Vicky staring at him. The elderly woman had insisted he call her Vicky, it made her feel young apparently – he added the ‘Meemaw’ part himself to tease her.

“You didn’t talk in there today.” She remarked, letting her hand fall from his arm in preference of standing next to him.

“Didn’t feel like any of the topics applied to me much.” He lied.

She just hummed in reply, letting him stew in the fact that she knew exactly what he actually wanted to say. ‘Today just felt like one of those days where if I talk too much I’ll drop dead.’ 

She knew because she had those days too, he knew that as well. She was in the same therapy group as him, and he’d heard some of her stories. Her husband being murdered in front of her from a home invasion wasn’t what he was expecting to come out of what seemed to be the kindest old lady, although he didn’t think anyone was prepared to hear his truth either. He left out the raised by batman and dying part, but being kidnapped by the Joker was all too well known by some of the people in this godforsaken community center. 

Breaking out of his trance, Jason inhaled sharply, “You still coming over tomorrow?”

“Yes, and I’ll be bringing a surprise, I think you’ll like it.” She didn’t look at him as she spoke, just kept watching the soft rain pattering onto the ground. 

“I’m sure I will, Meemaw.”

Jason helped her to the bus stop, leaving with a kiss on his cheek and a dish of leftover mac and cheese he wasn’t sure where she was keeping. 

Something was wrong. When he had arrived home, the rain still making itself known, something had been off. None of his lights were on, so he couldn’t see in – but the welcome mat Barbra had gotten him was scuffed with mud he knew he hadn’t tracked in last night after his patrol. Checking the front door confirmed it was still locked. 

Opening the door slowly, he surveyed the room. His bottom floor was completely open plan, save for a cupboard acting as a divider between the kitchen and the living room. Nothing was amiss from what he could see, except for his missing dog. She always woke up before he actually got in, waiting to greet him at the door. But she was missing and he couldn’t even hear her soft snores. 

Then he heard it. A soft mumble. Something he couldn’t make out. But he had heard it. It had come from his living room area. When he made his way over, he couldn’t do anything except let out a deep, annoyed sigh. 

“I thought dogs were meant to deter unwanted guests.”

Damian Al-Ghul Wayne sat on Jason’s beaten up couch with a neutral expression as he ran his hand behind Dog’s ear. She looked up at Jason, her tongue flopping out. Damian seemed to either be in a deep comatose state, or he was completely ignoring Jason’s presence. 

“What? No snarky comment or backhanded compliment?” Jason asked as he moved to turn the lights on. When he turned back to the teenager, the bruises littering his neck catches his attention immediately. From what he could see they continued all the way round and disappeared under his shirt too. He would’ve been alarmed if it weren’t for the fact that Damian was a crime-fighting vigilante, had a kill count in the triple digits and oh yeah, was the son of Batman. So Jason just shook his head and walked to the kitchen. 

“So you gonna tell me why you’re here?” Jason called out, busying himself with shoving some of the mac and cheese in the microwave.

Dog had finally let up on her pure betrayal. She trotted over to Jason, purely unaware as she scratched at her food bowl. 

With no response coming from the couch’s occupant, Jason just rolled his eyes and bent down to pet Dog and fill her food bowl. Her slightly crossed eyes closed as she licked at his face before she started on her dinner. She was a certified therapy dog, another gift from that group therapy. She worked, though. She gave him something to get out of bed for. Whatever happened, he knew he had to get home and feed Dog. And she calmed him down during the occasional panic attack, so he didn’t mind the downside of walks and feeding too much. 

Later, after Jason and Damian had sat at the kitchen island in silence and each had eaten their own dinner, Damian got up without a word and began washing the few dishes left in the sink. Jason knew not to argue with him when he started doing something. He settled for watching him as he washed and rinsed, offering the occasional help when he noticed the boy would stop for a few seconds as he didn’t know where something was. At this point Jason was getting slightly concerned. Damian was never this quiet. He would show up without explanation sometimes, but he’d always offer some insult or sassy statement throughout the visit. This wasn’t normal. 

Checking his phone, no out of the ordinary messages peaked his interest, no one asking where Damian was or who had him. Then, the time caught his eye. If Damian went to sleep any later, he’d be a disaster to deal with in the morning and there weren’t enough therapy dogs in the world for that patience test. 

“C’mon, you can sleep in my bed. I’ll take the couch.” 

Just before Jason left his bedroom to let Damian get some sleep, he stopped. Damian was standing next to his bed, awkwardly wringing his hands together and shifting his weight from one leg to the other. 

His voice was small when he spoke, and it sounded too broken for it’s own good, “I presume Alfred has been told of my whereabouts.”

“Nope.” His reply was quick and matter-of-fact. 

“He would want to know where I am – and so would… so would father.” The last part was softer, almost like he didn’t want to say it in the first place. 

“Between you and me, I can tell when someone doesn’t wanna be found just yet.” 

The door made a soft click as Jason closed it behind him. Dog was all too happy when she got to smother him completely as he lay down on the couch.

The next morning, as the last part of yesterday’s rain still prattled on stubbornly against his windows, Jason stood in the kitchen with his favourite mug. His neighbour had gotten it for him, a house-warming gift. He hated the stupid camo decals but it was the first genuine gift he had gotten in years. So he kept it. Not hearing the sound of careful footsteps coming down the stairs, Jason blinked his thoughts away when Damian’s unkempt set of dark curls entered his peripheral vision. 

“Rough night?” Jason joked.

“What? I stayed in the room if that’s what-“

“It’s an expression dumbass, your hair looks like it’s going in five different directions.”

“…Oh.” That small glimpse of innocence and the look of a tiny epiphany in Damian made Jason smile, but it was wiped away quickly when Damian started listing off his breakfast needs like he was at a restaurant.

“-and with that you’ll pour the cream over. Oh and don’t forget the eggs. Not too crispy and not too soft.”

“You order Alfred around like that in the mornings?” Jason turned to his cabinets, pulling out a box of cereal that was probably two months too old. 

“I usually accept my breakfast in bed, and he already knows how I like everything.” He sat on one of the high-chairs, looking impossibly childish as his legs hung off too far from the ground.

“Oh, sorry your highness, but you’ll have to deal with cereal today.” They did this dance everytime he came over to visit.

As Damian ate, Jason started with washing the mug and spoon in his sink. This felt better. The younger boy was finally offering up full sentences one after the other and wouldn’t immediately look away when he tried to meet his eyes – even though he could tell he was still struggling.

But those bruises caught his eye again. Bile started to rise in his throat.

“Your neck-“

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He stopped eating for a moment before returning with more fervor. 

“So they aren’t ones from fighting?”

“Would that make them better? Acceptable?” Damian looked straight at his brother, piercing through him with his accusing stare. A challenge. 

“No, but I just wanna know if you’re safe, idiot.”

His gaze fell. He pushed his almost finished bowl of probably unsafe cereal away and stood.

“I want to leave now. The walk to my school from your house is longer than from the manor.”

After a long moment of Jason scrutinizing his every move, he sighed. “You can leave, but you’re not going to school today.”

His mouth snarled and his brow raised as he registered his words, “Excuse me?”

“If you think my questions about those marks are too personal, you’ll hate what the teachers are gonna ask.” He shrugged. 

He pondered for a moment before replying, “Maybe missing school is for the best, just today though.”

Jason put the mug and spoon onto the drying rack, wiping his hands on a dishcloth while he made his way to the front door. 

“Where are you going?”

“Oh, I thought you wanted to leave? Might as well take dog with us, she needs a walk anyways.” He held out a leash, offering it to Damian as Dog made her presence known with excited barks.

The skeptical look on Damian’s face as he walked over could have been framed. He questioned the idea of ‘us’ out-loud as he clipped the leash onto Dog’s collar.

Jason didn’t bother replying, opting to walk out the door, expecting the others to follow. The morning was still exceptionally dreary. The rain was even more misty than yesterday, but still annoying enough to warrant Jason bringing his umbrella from inside. 

The trio walked down the street without a word, with Dog being none the wiser as she sniffed at every passer-by. Jason waved to his neighbour as they passed his house, although the man just gave a blank expression and a nod in reply.

“What is wrong with him?” Damian asked as the blonde man quickly disappeared back into his house. 

“I know him from therapy, he’s ex-military or some shit. Got traumatized enough to be discharged early I guess.” He decided to leave out the part where his husband died in his arms from a gunshot to the head.

After a short while, both of them had fallen silent. Neither felt the need to fill the space between them with pointless chit-chat. That was until Damian piped up, “Your… therapy, does it actually work?”

“Most the time. Thinking of finally talking to someone?” Jason taunted him with a raised brow and smirk, wanting to get him back for this morning. 

“Definitely not. I can’t imagine anything worse than some stranger who only cares about their paycheck asking me about my life.”

“You know, it’s not always like that. Some therapists actually care. Sure, a lot of them only want the session over with so they can diagnose you and ask for the bill,” Jason sat on a park bench, expecting for the other to follow his lead, “but there are therapists that genuinely want to help people. And, you don’t have to be alone when you do it, by the way.”

Instead of replying immediately, Damian bent down to unclip Dog’s leash. She set off instantly in search of a nearby flock of pigeons with her tail pointed high and her nose to the ground. Damian chose to stay standing, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. It made Jason smile to himself.

“I don’t think the being alone is the issue to me.” He said it quietly, his gaze darting from one person to the next as they went about their business in the park. Even though most Gothamites were used to the near-constant downpour many still chose to stay indoors when the weather got like this. Autumn was Damian’s favourite season just for this – he could go just about anywhere and not be bothered by huge crowds or people willing to linger too long.  

“It helps, when you’re in a group. It hurts like hell and it gets embarrassing when you start crying in front of like, eight civilians and a doctor who just smiles the whole time-“

“That sounds awful.”

“But,” he says forcefully, immediately regretting it when Damian recoiled ever so slightly, “forcing yourself to be vulnerable around strangers actually gets you used to being human again. And when you realize those strangers are actually going through the same thing as you, they become way less scary.”

Gently, Jason placed a hand on Damian’s shoulder. Damian stiffened a little, but his expression remained blank as he kept staring off into the distance. 

The words sat on his tongue like acid, burning his throat from the inside out. He wanted to shake the boy and scream at him that it didn’t have to be like this. That he didn’t have to pretend to hide where those bruises came from. That he didn’t have to miss school like this. That he didn’t have to come running to his older brother’s house anymore. He wanted to scream the softest words he knew he’d never heard before. But he settled for letting his hand fall from his shoulder and placing it next to Damian’s clenched fist. Not an invitation, or a threat, just a reminder. 

They stayed like that for a while, sitting in silence. When they finally arrived back home, Jason noted that Damian seemed less dejected, but as if he was now just floating above his body. 

Jason took his place in the rocking chair Meemaw Vicky got him for knitting in. The whole thing had been her idea, she said knitting helps keep your hands and your mind off of other things – and god knew he needed that. The old, stolen, clock that sat on Jason’s, also stolen, shelf reminded him of something he had very much conveniently forgotten. 

Meemaw Vicky would be arriving in exactly ten minutes, maybe longer if she was late – Jason knew she wouldn’t be. His gaze turned to Damian who was sitting quietly on his couch, reading through one of the random books Jason kept on his shelves, next to that clock. Dog slept at his feet, her muffled snores indicating her tiredness after their walk. Damian’s glazed over eyes flew across the words, leaning back into the plush cushions as he flipped the pages. His nose crinkled every few sentences, trying to decipher whatever hidden message the author was trying to make him read between the lines for. He had two options, shove Damian out the house before Meemaw Vicky can get her hands on his chubby cheeks and then end up with a knife in her ribs, or lock him upstairs till she leaves. He decided on neither. 

“I have someone coming over soon.”

“Pennyworth?” he didn’t even look up as he answered him.

“For the last time, he probably knows where you are already and no I have not called him. A friend of mine is visiting.”

“You have friends?” that got an amused look from Damian. Friendly eye contact, progress.

That comment snapped his invisible patience though.

“Speak for yourself,” stop, “you’ve been at that school for what? Eight months?” what are you doing, “How many friends have you managed to make?” why am I saying this, “And how many of those kids actually know you past the fact that you’re a billionaires kid who can’t talk about his feelings?” God please just shut up.

Jason bit the inside of his cheek before he could continue fucking up. He tasted copper while he saw the emotions flit through Damian’s eyes. They were too short to recognize but he felt each one like a gut punch all the same. Damian just blinked and looked back down to his book, obviously not actually reading it. Progress erased. 

“I’m sorry, I-“

“Don’t. It’s fine.”

That feeling came back, the urge to grip him so tight and engrain what he was feeling into his bones. The feelings he couldn’t hope to find the words for. The apologies, the forgiveness, the reassurance, the anger. 

The ringing of the doorbell announcing Meemaw Vicky's arrival interrupted Jason thoughts.

Damian didn’t even pretend to be interested in getting up. He just kept looking at the book.

Dog got up and happily trotted over to greet her through the door. Jason sighed as he walked over to open the door, giving her cheeks a kiss each as to say hello.

“Oh Jason, I finally managed to grow those orchids we talked about! They were tough but they bloomed just this morning! I brought a few cuttings for you to keep around the house.” Her smile                     seemed to cleanse the soul, letting you know just how good her intentions always where. Not a bad bone resided in this woman’s body – maybe that’s why Jason loved having her over. He felt as if the goodness overflowing from her every word would stain him and his house so that nothing of his past would remain. And he also just enjoyed the company every once in a while.

Jason failed to notice just how quickly the elderly woman could still move. She had already gotten all the way to his living room while he was thinking, leaving the plastic bags surely filled with flower cuttings on his kitchen counter. He had to move.

But when he walked the distance and talked himself out of revisiting the locking Damian upstairs idea, all he found was Meemaw Vicky leaning dangerously close over Damian’s shoulder, asking him a list of questions about himself. 

She stood up and looked to Jason, shoving an accusatory finger in his space. “You never told me you had a little brother! I expected better from you, Jason Todd.”

Damian scoffed at that. Jason just rolled his eyes and mumbled an apology.

Meemaw Vicky sat a respectable distance on the couch from the boy, giving him ample space. She had calmed down considerably, but still asked Damian questions he answered through gritted teeth. 

“How old are you?”

“13.”

“Oh, same age as my granddaughter! You’d love her. I think I should bring her over one day to meet you.”

“Please don’t.”

“So what are you learning about in school? Ooh, what book have you got there? I need to catch up on my reading.”

“I- I am on a normal curriculum and I’m reading, uh, Pride and Prejudice.”

“I see,” she sat back for a moment, studying him, “you know that’s your brother’s favourite book.”

“…Really?”

Meanwhile, content that he wasn’t going to stab her, Jason had left the two alone to make some tea. While waiting for the kettle to boil, he decided to actually check his phone for the first time since last night. The usual app notifications were quickly deleted, with a few kept – if he doesn’t keep the instagram notifications he will never remember to watch all the reels Dick sends him, and then he’ll never hear the end of it. His finger stopped in it’s motion across the phone when it lit up with a call screen. The caller ID seemed to seep into Jason’s psyche and grip his lungs. 

‘Bruce Wayne’ in plain, black text in front of the white background laughed at him. It was taunting him. 

He declined the call. And the next one. And the next three. 

He only picked up the last call because this time it came from Alfred, and he was too scared to decline a call from that man.

“What’s up?”

“Master Jason, I assume Master Damian is with you?”

“Why?”

“He didn’t come home from school yesterday. He’d only ever stay the night at your or Master Dick’s house.”

“And how do you not know he’s not at Dick’s place?”

“Because he at least answers Bruce’s phone calls the first time. Master Dick has not seen Master Damian.”

Damn that man and his phone addiction, and his undying loyalty to their adoptive father.

“Listen, he’s here but I can tell he doesn’t wanna go home. Not yet.”

“That is not what I’m concerned with, what I don’t like is him getting to skip school. You know how important an education is to give that boy some semblance of a normal life.” Although Alfred’s words were curt and pinched, Jason felt the genuine care that lay beneath them. Alfred loved Damian just as much as any of them. 

“I… I know. But Alfred, did you see his neck? People would ask questions. And you know he hates that.” He spoke in a hushed voice, careful to not let Damian hear.

The silence that came from the other end of the call was filled with the kettles high-pitched whine. Quickly turning the stove off, Jason wracked his brain for what to say to Alfred about any of this. 

But, it was Alfred that spoke as Jason poured the cups of tea while holding the phone to his ear.

“I was not made aware of any injuries. How bad are they?”

“God, Alfred I- shit,” he winced as he spilled some boiling water on his hand, “I don’t know. He won’t even let me see but there are nasty bruises all over his neck. And I can tell they go further. He must’ve had a pretty bad fight, did something happen?”

“Master Damian has not been on patrol for a few days though, he has been on a strict sleeping schedule due to an upcoming school project.”

“… what?” Suddenly, those calls from Bruce started making sense.

It was hours later, Meemaw had left long ago and Jason disappeared into his room. When he descended the stairs, clad in his vigilante costume, he found Damian still sitting cross-legged in the living room. He was actually properly reading the book and Jason almost didn’t have the heart to interrupt him. 

“Did you bring your suit?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Get dressed. Meet me on the roof.” He knew he didn’t have to explain how to get up there, he'd find his way fine. 

By the time Damian finally joined Jason on the roof, Jason stood with his hands on his hips looking like an impatient mother. “Follow.” Was all the instruction Jason gave before he darted off in the direction of the next rooftop. 

When they stopped a few minutes later, Jason looked over to Damian, “Tired yet, kid?”

Damian shook his head, a neutral expression staining his face.

This continued for city block after city block. Mile after mile, they ran. Every few stops, Jason would look to Damian with a grin– a challenge of his own. And Damian would accept it every time.

Only when both of them were drenched in sweat and panting for breath did Jason finally speak again. 

“Tired?”

Damian stood hunched over, with his hands on his knees. Oxygen flooded his lungs as he breathed and sweat dripped off of his face. He didn’t even try and respond.

Jason just chuckled, huffing before setting off in a run again.

Only about five rooftops later did he think to look back. He didn’t think he would find Damian right behind him – on all-fours, his chest heaving. 

Jason silently came towards him, sitting on his haunches and placing a hand on his shoulder. His voice was gentler this time, “Tired?”

Damian’s eyes were screwed shut. Tears of exhaustion burned him. The stench of sweat invaded his nostrils. Every part of his suit clung to him in all the wrong ways. He wanted to tear every offending piece off of him. He wanted to scream but the exertion had stolen too much out of him.

Jason’s eyes narrowed. His hand rubbed soothing circles into Damian’s shoulder as he spoke, “Hey, it’s gonna be ok. You did good.”

No. No he didn’t. He had failed. He’d lost the challenge. He couldn’t have hoped to keep up if they had continued. He-

“Hey. Look at me.”

Slowly, Damian’s eyes opened. His ribs burned with embarrassment as his gaze lifted. 

“I’m sor-“ Damian tried.

“Stop.” His voice wasn’t too rough this time, he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. He’d been trained better than that. And yet Damian still winced. 

“Look at how far we came. How far you came.” He nodded his head to the horizon behind them, and Damian followed his guide to glance back.

He couldn’t even see Jason’s house anymore. He could only see an unfamiliar landscape dotted with buildings and rooftops. They had gone so far he couldn’t even recognize where in Gotham they were. 

“Where are we?”

“One of the newer suburbs, Bruce hasn’t mapped this part of the city yet. That’s why I love coming here.” He stood, moving to the edge of the roof.

“Why did you bring me here, Jason?” the way he said his name made his heart hurt.

“Because,” he grunted as he swung his legs over the edge and took a seat, “I wanted to remind you that you’re human. You can’t do everything. You can fall over because you’re exhausted. You can fail.”

Tears pricked at his eyes for a different reason now. His limbs screeched at him as he stood.

“I am aware that I am only human. I am reminded of that every single day.”

“Yeah, but did anyone ever teach you that that’s a good thing? That it is allowed?”

Damian reluctantly sat next his brother. It was late by now, the final streaks of dusk laying in the sky.

“I can hardly see how constantly being told that you are human is a good thing.”

“Told?”

Damian’s breath hitched.

Jason smirked, “There it is.”

The younger boy’s shoulders dropped. 

“So, who is it? Who do I need bury?”

He refused to answer.

“Damian if someone is hurting you, you are allowed to defend yourself. You don’t need to keep up this civilian charade when it comes to-“

“I know that. My civilian persona doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

Jason quirked his brow at this. A deep orange glow disappeared over the buildings and the final stars began to show. The theory Jason feared the most was rearing it’s ugly head.

“It was Bruce wasn’t it.” It was less of a question, but he was getting tired of beating around the bush. 

As the navy sky blanketed the city and snuffed out any of the golden sunset, Damian finally allowed himself to let go. Jason didn’t need to look over to see the tears flowing down his brother’s face, he knew. How ever silent Damian thought he was being or had been last night in Jason’s room, he knew. He also knew the pain. The pain of acceptance that came with acknowledging what had happened, and who did it to you. 

“I wasn’t fast enough. I deserved it.” Jason just let him talk, “We were training, and I- I failed. I could’ve been faster, stronger – I could have…”

It took a few more moments before he continued, “I got too tired. He caught me too many times. I-“

His voice broke when Jason pulled him towards his chest. He wrapped his arms around the too-young boy. Damian let his heart sink. He let his exhausted mind melt. He let himself be human for a second. 

[asmo-d3us]

HIT ME HARD AND SOFT lyrics as Marauders Era characters.

SKINNY:

1. “Fell in love for the first time, with a friend it’s a good sign.” - bartylus, rosekiller, or wolfstar.

2. “People say I look happy, just because I got skinny.” - either Peter or Lily maybe??

3. “And you said I was your secret. And you didn’t get to keep it.” - jegulus.

LUNCH:

This song is literally just all the lesbian ships into one. It’s like Marlene finding out she’s gay asf and having a gay panic with this song in the background or smth 💀

CHIHIRO:

1. “Did you, take, my love, away, from me?” - regulus about jily, and barty about jegulus.

2. “I don’t know why I called, I don’t know you at all. // but there’s a part of me that recognizes you. Do you feel it too?” - Sirius and Regulus about each other.

3. “Wringing my hands in my lap, and you tell me it’s all been a trap, and you don’t know if you’ll make it back, I say ‘No, don’t say that.’” - regulus to Sirius before he ran away.

BIRDS OF A FEATHER:

1. “Birds of a feather, we should stick together, I know I said I’d never think I wasn’t better alone, can’t change the weather, might not be forever, but if it’s forever, it’s even better.” - the pantheons, the marauders, & the valkyries about each other. + platonic prongsfoot and platonic rosestarkiller.

2. “It might not be long, but baby, I, I'll love you 'til the day that I die, 'Til the day that I die. 'Til the light leaves my eyes, 'Til the day that I die.” - evan about barty, or regulus about james. maybe even barty about regulus himself.

3. “I want you to see how you look to me. You wouldn't believe if I told ya, you would keep the compliments I throw ya. But you're so full of shit. Tell me it's a bit, say you don't see it, your mind's polluted. Say you wanna quit, don't be stupid.” - james to regulus or evan to barty. Perhaps Sirius talking about how regulus looks up to him but he always denies it??

4. “I knew you in another life. You had that same look in your eyes. I love you, don't act so surprised.” - literally every single ship in this fandom including the black brothers.

WILDFLOWER (there’s so many more references in these songs I’m just so lazy!):

1. “Well good things don't last, and life moves so fast, I’d never ask who was better 'cause she couldn't be more different from me; happy and free in leather. And I know that you love me. You don't need to remind me. Wanna put it all behind me, but baby.” - regulus about jily getting together.

THE GREATEST:

1. “I'm trying my best to keep you satisfied.” - regulus and basically every single pureblood out there towards their parents.

2. “Let you get your rest, while I stayed up all night. And you don't wanna know how alone I've been. Let you come and go,” - regulus about Sirius after he left.

3. “Man, am I the greatest, my congratulations. All my love and patience, all my admiration. All the times I waited for you to want me naked made it all look painless. Man, am I the greatest.” - regulus about james when all he ever wanted was lily and never reg himself.

4. “And we don't have to fight when it's not worth fighting for (Fighting for).” - regulus when fighting with james about the mark he had just gotten and acknowledging that it was too late to fight about this because he already got the mark forever.

5. Basically this whole song is jegulus and the black brothers coded.

L’AMOUR DE MA VIE:

1. “But I need to confess, I told you a lie. I said you, were the love of my life. The love of my life. Did I break your heart? Did I waste your time? I tried to be there for you. Then you tried to break mine.” - regulus after lying to Barty about liking him back romantically when he in fact didn’t. Barty trying to break his heart by dating evan but it not working and resulting in Barty shattering Evan’s heart instead when he finds out it was all just to make reg jealous.

2. “It isn't asking for a lot for an apology, for making me feel like it'd kill you if I tried to leave. You said you'd never fall in love again because of me, then you moved on immediately.” - barty to regulus when asking for an apology for lying and breaking his heart and regulus just saying that he’d never fall in love after barty but then immediately moved on to james.

3. “So you found her, now go fall in love, just like we were if I ever was.” - regulus when he finds out rosekiller is a thing.

4. “Thought I was depressed or losing my mind, my stomach upset almost all of the time. But after I left, it was obvious why. Because for you, I was the love of your life, but you were not mine.” - regulus when in a relationship with barty because it was before he transitioned and it was the regulus that barty was in love with and it felt so toxic and degrading for reg because that’s not who he truly was. For barty, regulus was the love of his life, but for him barty wasn’t because he treated regulus like a girl, and he always would.

THE DINER:

STFU THIS WHOLE SONG SOUNDS LIKE ROSEKILLER WITH TOXIC + STALKER BARTY AND NORMAL EVAN WHO IS IN LOVE WITH BARTEMIUS BUT HE JUST CANT BC HES A CRIMINAL AND HES INSANE AND AS MUCH AS HE HATES IT HE KNOWS HE HAS TO CALL THE COPS AND HE CANT LIVE CALMLY BC SOMEHOW BARTY ALWAYS MANAGES TO ESCAPE AND FIND HIM AND KILL ANYONE HES SEEING OR DATING AND HES JUST GOING TO DIE ALONE BUT ALSO NOT???

BITTERSUITE:

1. “I can’t fall in love with you.” - again, regulus about barty. Lily about James, and if you wanna get really dark with it; James about Peter.

2. “'Cause I can't fall in love with you no matter how bad I want to.” - regulus with barty bc he knows barty would try his best and would understand this change but he just can’t fall in love with him!

BLUE (good god…):

1. “I try to live in black and white, but I'm so blue.” - every single fucking slytherin ever??

2. “I'd like to mean it when I say I'm over you, but that's still not true.” - this can mean so many things, it’s just all up to our imagination.

3. “I thought we were the same birds of a feather, now I'm ashamed.” - Dorcas and pandora about barty, reg, and evan because Dorcas began to work for the order and her best friends didn’t and she was ashamed, yet she thought they’d always still together and they’d choose the right path.

4. “You were born bluer than a butterfly, beautiful and so deprived of oxygen.” - pandora.

5. “Colder than your father’s eyes, he never learned to sympathize with anyone.” - barty.

6. “I don’t blame you, but I can’t change you. Don’t hate you, but we can’t save you.” - all the slytherins (JUSTICE FOR MY SLYTHERINS!!)

7. “You were born reachin’ for your mother’s hands, victim of your father’s plans to rule the world.” - regulus.

8. “Too afraid to step outside, paranoid and petrified of what you’ve heard.” - evan.

9. “But they could say the same 'bout me I sleep 'bout three hours each night means only twenty-one a week now, now.” - Dorcas about herself after leaving her friends who were her true family for nearly her whole life.

10. “And I could say the same 'bout you; born blameless, grew up famous too, just a baby born blue now, now.” - Dorcas about her friends.

[obixwan]

we could call it even (part two of it always leads to you)

part one: it always leads to you

pairings: padawan f reader x cody

word count: 1,700 ish

warnings: pre established relationship, break up of said relationship. sneaking around, the yuckyness of the Jedi order, conflicted feelings. sad cody.

notes: hello… i am in fact… alive. i just wanted to say thank you to @clones-cyare who absolutely smashed my notifications this afternoon while i was at work. I hope you like this hehe.

masterlist

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ

The door shuts behind him with a faint hiss, but sound reverberates through you like a blaster bolt. For a moment, you’re left standing there, staring at the dull durasteel walls of the ship, willing the tears not to come. But your body betrays you, it always does when it comes to him. The force betrays you too, carrying his pain back to in tidal waves. A raw, aching wound that refuses to close.

You sink down to your bed, the sheets as cold as the room, head in your hands. This is what it is to be Jedi; sacrifice. You knew the cost of attachment. But nothing could have prepared you for this. For the hollow ache in your chest, the too big too small feeling of the room. The heaviness of the air, the absence of him.

You don’t sleep that night. Instead you sit on the small mat in your room, legs tucked under you, lightsaber forgotten on your bed. You search for the peace, the balance, the harmony you’re supposed to embody, embrace. But all you find is his voice echoing again and again. We’re meant to be together. We are one half of a whole.

The memory of his touch lingers, like a ghost. The roughness of his palms against yours, the warmth of his eyes as he pleaded with you. You snap your eyes shut as the force ripples around you, as if it mourns the choice you’ve made. But you feel something more in those ripples, and although it’s distant, it strikes through you; danger.

You’re on your feet in an instant, lightsaber in your hand, the door hissing as it opens for you. The ship is silent as you step into the hallway, but you can feel him. He’s close.

You find him in the cargo bay, his helmet discarded on a crate beside him, hands trembling as he tinkers with a small device. Your breath catches in your throat when you realise what it is. A chip removal device. Black market. Made for clones who went awol…

“Cody,” you say softly, but your voice carries in the emptiness of the cargo bay. He freezes, his head snapping to look up at you. For a moment, he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, you’re not even sure he’s breathing. But he looks away from you, amber eyes returning to the task at hand.

“I thought you were clear.” He says, low and strained. “You made your choice.”

“I have.” You risk a step closer. “But this-” You gesture to the kit, “This isn’t the way.”

His eyes snap up to yours again. “Then what is?” His hands curl into fists. “What am I supposed to do? Stand by and watch as the republic tears itself apart? As you tear yourself apart for an order that doesn’t care about you? For a war we won’t win?”

Your heart twists, but you force yourself steady. “The republic isn’t perfect, but we can’t fix that by running, Cody, we fix it by staying and fighting for what is right.”

“I’m tired of fighting.”

“If you go through with this, if you remove the chip and desert, you won’t just be fighting the republic, you’ll be fighting with yourself. You said it yourself. It would haunt you.”

His shoulders slump, and for a moment, he leans into your presence but then moves away, as if reminding himself of what you’ve said. “So that’s it then, we just go on pretending like we never happened?”

You close your eyes so you don’t have to look at him when the words tear out of you. “We have to.”

He’s silent for so long that you think the conversations over, but his hands loosen as the black market tool clatters to the floor, the loud bang echoing through the cargo bay. He stands, looking at you at his full height, eyes glassy. “You said we serve something bigger than ourselves. But what happens when that something asks for too much?”

You don’t have an answer and before you can say anything else, he picks up his helmet and walks away. You don’t try and stop him.

You thought it would get easier with time. The distance, both physical and emotional, would dull the sharpness in your chest at the sight of him, the edges of what you had chosen to leave behind. But instead, like an infection, it festers.

Every rotation aboard the ship feels heavier, suffocating. Every interaction with Cody has become a delicate balancing act between civility and the emotions roaring in your head. Obi-Wan knows something has gone terribly wrong.

When you meet him the next morning in the war room, it is like a punch to the gut. He steals the air from your lungs. He’s standing beside Obi-Wan, his armor polished perfectly, expression unreadable and eyes focused on the holo-table. But his presence is like a weight pressing up against your ribcage.

“Ah, there you are.” Obi-Wan says by way of greeting. His tone is perfectly neutral but you feel his sharp gaze flicking between you and Cody. “We’re planning a recon mission for tomorrow. You’ll both be leading separate squads to ensure minimal overlap.”

Your stomach twists. Obi-Wan’s efforts to keep you and Cody apart is glaringly obvious. While you can’t fault his logic, it does not make the situation any easier. Cody’s jaw tightens. But he says nothing, hands clasped behind his back.

You force yourself to focus as Obi-Wan explains the plan. Cody’s squad will secure the outpost on the below planet, while yours infiltrates the communications hub. It’s straightforward, textbook. And yet, the thought of being out there, knowing he’s so close and yet so far, makes your head throb.

Briefing over, Obi-Wan takes his leave, and it’s just the two of you alone in the war room, the holo-table still glowing between you. For a moment, neither of you speak. What do you even say? The air is thick with everything unspoken.

It’s Cody that breaks the silence. “You’ve reviewed the terrain?”

His voice is cool, professional but you don’t miss the strain beneath his words. You nod, keeping your eyes fixed on the table. “I have. Your team will need to secure the northern ridge before we move in.” You point to the map. “The Separatist have heavy artillery stationed there.”

“I know how to do my job,” He says sharply, and you can’t help the flinch that races through you.

You glance up at him, chest tight at the sight of the tension etched into his face. “I wasn’t questioning your ability, Commander.”

His lips press into a thin line, and he looks away, gloved hands braced against the edge of the table. For a moment, you think he’s going to walk away but he heaves an exhale, and turns to look at you. “This,” He grinds out, gesturing between the two of you. “is not working.”

“We don’t have a choice.”

“There is always a choice.” He counters. “You are just too stubborn to make it.”

You want to argue, want to tell him you did make a choice, the only choice you could make. But the words stick in your throat, tangled up in your hair strings, in the weight of your own longing and guilt.

“We have to find a way to work together, for the mission and the men.”

He softens at that. “For the men.”

The fragile truce between you holds through the next rotation, though it’s strained at best. You work in silence, only exchanging the necessary words, clipped and efficient. But every stolen glance, every brush of fingers when passing data pads and holoprojecters, feels like an explosion waiting to happen.

It’s not until the mission itself that the dam walls finally break. The plan goes completely sideways, as it always does between you too. Separatist reinforcements arrived sooner than you had planned to, the communications hub not even down. Your squad is pinned, the comm crackles with Cody’s voice, sharp and urgent.

“Hold your position,” He orders. “We’re coming to get you.”

You grit your teeth, blaster fire echoing around you. “That’s not the plan.”

“Screw the damned plan. I’m not leaving you there.”

Something in his tone sends shivers down your back, and for a moment, you’re transported to a lost time. You shake the thought from your mind, focusing on the battle at hand.

Minutes feel like hours, but eventually, Cody’s squad breaks through the enemy line, his blaster cutting a path to your position. When he reaches you, there’s a fire in his eyes. He grabs your arm, pulling you to your feet as the rest of your squad provides covering fire.

“Are you hurt?” He asks, voice rough through his helmet comms, grip on your arm firm.

“I’m fine.” You manage, though your knees are knocking.

His hand lingers on your arm for a moment longer than he should, and then he lets go. “Let’s move out.”

You make it back to the ship in one piece, but the tension between the two of you is thicker than ever. As you strip off your armor in the locker room, hands shaking as the remaining adrenaline passes, you hear the door open behind you. You don’t need to turn to know it’s him.

“You should have waited.” You say, voice barely above a whisper.

“You know that was not an option.”

You turn to him, chest heaving, heart racing, tears threatening to spill over. “This is exactly why we can’t-” You suck in air. “We can’t-” You can’t even get the words out around your panic. “This is destroying us.”

He steps closer. Too close. “It’s destroying ME.” He snaps. “Everytime I see you out there, everytime I think I might lose you, it’s killing me.”

You want to tell him to stop, to leave, to let you go. But when he reaches for you, hands framing your face, you don’t pull away. His touch is warm, grounding, calming. And for a moment, you let yourself lean into it, let yourself believe that maybe, maybe, you can have this.

But reality crashes back in and you step away, heart crushing. “We can’t.”

His eyes burn into yours, filled with pain. “Then tell me how to stop.”

You don’t have an answer. All you can do is turn away, the door hissing open for you as you leave him standing there.

[azure-firecracker]

the x files of course!! AND a fandom you want to do and/or think I would enjoy 🫶🏽

Aah thank you💚💚💚

TXF

Favorite female character: Scully the absolute love of my life! An icon. She will murder you with wit and science and a glare. She’s also the most protective person you’ll ever meet. She’s loyal to a fault and rational to an even greater fault, but also both of these save her (and Mulder) over and over. She’s nuanced. She’s sassy. She’s hilarious. She’s a badass. She breaks my heart. Character of all time.

Favorite male character: Mulder the absolute puppy of a man that he is. He has trauma. His self preservation skills are nonexistent. He would die for the truth but he will live for Scully. No one carries more love in their heart than this man. He almost dies every episode. He’s a genius. And an idiot. And a lover. And a fighter. But really mostly a lover if he didn’t have *trauma* I adore him!

Favorite Season: Season 5 could theoretically take this but for now still Season 2! In all its raw soap opera love story type glory. This is the season of desperate hand holding, of racing through the dark after one another and screaming into the night, of pulling each other back from Hell and undying loyalty in the face of unspeakable horrors. It’s desperate embraces and collapsing into each others arms and gloom and new love and every emotion is at level 100. Season 2 you will always be special to me.

Favorite Episode: I have two! One is Irresistible (which I have talked about extensively on here), and the other is Demons (which I will talk about extensively on here). You can see my love for angst and hurt/comfort and rescues lol (and you can find my thoughts on both episodes in my masterpost!) In many ways I think these episodes mirror each other, and they sort of form an episode quartet along with Unruhe and Anasazi. But that’s a topic for another post.

Favorite Cast Member: Gillian Anderson!

My favorite ship: “Mulder, I wouldn’t put myself on the line for anybody but you” “Scully, you are the only one I trust” MSR my beloved.

A Character I’d Die Defending: Fun fact Dana Scully has done nothing wrong ever actually all of her skepticism is valid and she’s a perfect human being.

A Character I Just Can’t Sympathize With: I don’t care if he’s a failed writer or whatever CSM is just an asshole and (hot take) not that entertaining to watch.

A Character I Grew to Love: Skinner! He started out lowkey boring, but I quickly was like “ooh he’s cool I like him” and then he got really interesting and nuanced (much more so than I anticipated).

My Anti OTP: I once saw a Scully/Krycek fic. That man had a hand in her abduction. No.

I think you’d probably like Buffy the Vampire Slayer if you haven’t seen it already (I’ve only seen 4 seasons but it’s always a fun rewatch for me)

Favorite female character: I have two! First is Faith who follows my trend of evil girls who are really just misunderstood and have never been loved. She was also my first real character crush! Second is Willow, who I just relate to a lot as a witchy lesbian nerd, and I want to give her a hug whenever she’s on screen and she’s so lovable and so layered and I love her very much.

Favorite male character: Probably Giles. I have a soft spot for parental figures and his relationship with Buffy is so sweet and layered and complex. Also he’s just an awkward British librarian who’s way too attached to a group of teenagers and I love that about him.

Favorite Season: Season 3! As dark as Season 2 but less melodramatic, plus Faith is there being hot and gay and evil! It’s not a perfect season but over half of these episodes are excellent.

Favorite Episode: Oh I’m not sure since it’s been a hot sec since I watched the show. I LOVED This Year’s Girl/Who Are You from Season 4, even though the season isn’t that great. I also love Five by Five from the spin-off Angel, if only for the ending scene.

Favorite Cast Member: Charisma Carpenter! I won’t get too into it here and I don’t know everything but she did some very brave things by speaking out against the show’s creators and I admire that.

Favorite Ship: Willow and Tara have my heart, but Faith and Buffy are SO fun! It’s a tie.

A Character I’d Die Defending: I won’t say Faith since I’ve already talked about her a lot. Instead I’ll go with Cordelia, who went through a lot of growth (especially if you watch her on Angel), and her growth was often unacknowledged by the show itself. Justice for my girl!

A Character I Just Can’t Sympathize With: This is ONLY about Buffy and not Angel, but I got SO sick of Angel by the time season 3 ended. He just sat there and was emo. I ran out of patience for him. He was great on Angel though (they let him do things besides mope and brood).

A Character I Grew to Love: Buffy! At first I thought she was sort of just a generic protagonist with some teen girl fun sprinkled in, but she’s got so many layers to her character and her fun is sprinkled with a real gravity that’s sort of a heartbreaking back and forth when you realize how young she is. I’ve also come to relate to her a lot more as I’ve gotten older, and the more I do, the more I like her.

My Anti OTP: Remember that time they tried to make Xander and Willow a thing? No? Me neither.

Ty for the ask:)

[bookworm-1196]

Part 2 of my yearly wrapup! My favorite 15 book series this year :

1. Percy Jackson and the Olympians by Rick Riordan - you have no idea how weird it feels to be technically the same age as / a bit older than Percy in the most recently published book from PJO after looking up to him sort of like to a big brother figure for so long. Also Percabeth my beloved !! First ship I ever shipped when I didn’t even know what shipping meant I just knew they were meant to be. Also ily Grover the whole time I was watching the TV show I was like damn I’m the Grover in my friend group 😂

2. Lockwood & Co by Jonathan Stroud - go read it if you haven’t yet! If you love PJO you’ll love this series. I’m already considering rereading the books and I finished reading them barely a month ago. And the world is so interesting too!

3. A Good Girl’s Guide To Murder trilogy by Holly Jackson - if ever there is an apocalypse I want Pippa Fitz-Amobi on my team because this girl is a badass genius. This book series made me want to read wayyy more murder mysteries so if you know any good YA murder mysteries with some of my other favorite tropes like found family pls comment!!

4. The Mortal Instruments by Cassandra Clare - I reread them this year and this time I liked the second half way more than the first half (bc Sizzy and also shipping Clace was less icky)

5. The Infernal Devices by Cassandra Clare - I really want to do a reread either at the end of this year or in 2025. Herongraystairs have a hold on me that I could not break if I tried, and I’ve rarely seen any fictional character or real person love anyone the way those three love each other. They break my heart and the fact that Jem and Tessa will see Will again in TWP keeps me up at night because WHAT DO YOU MEAN?? As in the Will from their universe, their Will or one from an alternate universe? Bc alternate universe Will isn’t the same. CC already confirmed it wasn’t a dream but pls no alternate universe Will it just won’t be the same.

6. The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins - I reread the series this year and read the Peeta POV fanfics of the book series from ao3 (the Peeta’s Games series on Archive of Our Own by igsygrace if you’re interested) and I am so mad that people don’t take YA seriously JUST because there’s also a romance or just because the target audience is teenagers or teen girls when this masterpiece exists.

7. Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo - I read the Grishaverse books last year and this year I read some SoC short fanfics. I love these characters and I love the world Leigh Bardugo built to house them. Why does Netflix keep cancelling book adaptation TV shows I love ? Praying it doesn’t happen to AGGGTM like pls just this once.

8. The Heroes of Olympus by Rick Riordan - I miss these characters and I really want to reread HoO soon. Something I’ve really wanted to either read or if it doesn’t exist yet write is Jason and Reyna’s quests and life at Camp Jupiter sort of like PJO (Camp Jupiter’s Version) because I love them so much (not as a couple but as friends and as individual characters) and it’s a shame Rick Riordan hasn’t written either a book about them or about the Amazons or the Hunters of Artemis or the Ramirez-Arellano sisters like?? Cmon

9. Heartstopper by Alice Oseman - I reread Heartstopper this year before reading Heartstopper 5 and watching the third season of Heartstopper and it’s such a heartwarming lovely graphic novel series. The whole time I was reading or watching Nick and Charlie fall in love I just wished that could be me. The Imogen storyline in the latest season >>>>>

10. The Eldest Curses by Cassandra Clare - I reread Red Scrolls of Magic while rereading TMI and it’s one of my favorite TSC books because it’s my comfort read and I enjoy reading it so so much. I definitely need to reread Lost Book of the White sometime, it’s been a while and I don’t remember much about it other than the fact that it takes place in Shanghai and the whole TMI friend group AND Jem are there (which can only be iconic).

11. The Last Hours by Cassandra Clare - I just love this book series so much!!

12. The Wicked Powers by Cassandra Clare - not even out yet but I’m half-excited half-terrified about this series. It feels surreal that the Shadowhunter Chronicles are going to end 😢 I love these characters so much and the world is so fascinating I hope the fandom keeps expanding on it even after TWP is done. There’s so much left to explore, especially with the immortal characters like Lily Chen, Catarina Loss, Raphael Santiago, Ragnor Fell, or even Tessa!!

14. Harry Potter series - putting this here bc of the fact that I’m in the Marauders fandom and I really SHOULD get back to posting chapters for that fic I’ve been writing for a year now (I apologize)

15. the Seraphina & Tess of the Road duologies by Rachel Hartman - someone gifted me Tess of the Road as a birthday present when I was 10-12 I don’t remember and when I first read it then, I was too young to understand some of the more mature themes of that book. But when I reread it recently I was better equipped to and it just hit me how amazing this book is. I also really loved the Seraphina duology. (In The Serpent’s Wake wasn’t quite as good but I still liked it). If you like complex flawed FMCs who are strong in their own way, fantasy and dragons (and don’t mind if there isn’t a sweeping romance because there isn’t much in this series) you will love these books I couldn’t recommend them more. But check the content warnings for the Tess of the Road duology it’s… let’s say questionable that someone gave me this book at age twelve.

Anyway yeah those were the book series that owned my heart this year! Apart from AGGGTM and Lockwood & Co there weren’t really any new book series that captured my heart this year. Pls recommend some if based on what I’ve written you think I’d enjoy reading something!

[jesssssssssica]

jo & laurie & amy al12 & cl16

word count: 6k!

i am in love with my best friend. and i think he’s in love with me.

i’m not trying to be vain but i can’t deny that the way he looks at me is a look of love, lust and passion, matching the one i give him.  

i’ve never been in love with anyone but him. when we first met all those years ago it was like cupids arrow had pierced through my heart and since then i have been infatuated with charles leclerc.

the truth is though, who wouldn’t be? what’s not to like? he has the dimples that appear even after the worlds worst jokes and eyes that would have you hooked as his gorgeous plump lips ramble about a number of different things, he has everything a girl could want.

and yet he never made a move on anyone else. it’s just been me and him, y/n and charles, the dynamic duo. 

until that day on the hill.

i’m not oblivious to the fact that time is going on and that our lives are getting shorter and shorter each day, i know that if you want something so bad then just go for it or else you’ll miss your chance. i’m also not oblivious to the attention charles gets, i know he’s so gorgeous and attractive but how am i meant compete with those front cover models?

“it’s a nice day today, isn’t it?” charles asks me, his eyes squinted due to the beaming sun.

‘any day with you is a nice day’ my thoughts say as i quickly come up with a response.

“it really is” 

“did you hear that theodora got married and carlas off to paris for uni. it’s like time has finally caught up with us. and i’ll be off at the races again soon, which leaves you all alone, because unlike my mother and enzo you will never have anything to do that doesn’t end up leaving you even more getting bored.” 

everything he says is true and extremely saddening. when he’s gone i will have nothing to do but wallow in sadness, thinking about all the beautiful women he will meet day in and day out.

“you don’t have to go, you could stay here”

this is the moment he will say he loves me back and we can run off into the distance together and live our lives peacefully.

he laughs at me, probably at how ridiculous of an idea that was. 

“why do you want to run away and maybe sail away on a pirate ship far into the distance.”

i just look at him. taking in all the beauty i can see right now and i appreciate it for the hundredth time because i know that this is the last time he will look at me as if i am just a friend.

i inhale deeply and charles notices and i can tell he knows. he knows i am in love with him but instead of a look of happiness, i receive a look of what i can only perceive as anger. 

“no y/n.”

those two words break me. 

“don’t y/n”

i now understand what heartbreak actually is. it feels as if you’re heart has been pulled out of your chest and stomped on over again as they point and laugh at you as if you are a child.

i can’t help but try and fight the truth of situation, i mean what else am i meant to do in the heat of the moment, just back away without a fight? i am incredibly in love with this man and i can’t seem to let him go, it would hurt to much.

“charles, i’ve loved you since the moment i met you and i tried to ignore it at first but it just got to much and you were just so perfect that i couldn’t help it and i tried to let you know earlier but you would always shrug the topic away but now you have to listen to me and give me an answer once and for all because i can’t deal with this any longer, i really can’t.” 

 tears are streaming down my cheeks when i am finished. i am in pain but no one could ever understand me. i am in love with a man that will never EVER love me back and yet i was so naive that i dug my hole deeper by begging for him to give me just one chance. 

he speaks but i can barely hear it as my ears and my head have gone numb. 

“charles you don’t understand how hard i’ve worked to please you and keep you happy, and i gave up hanging out with my other friends to spend time with you and i’ve never complained because i thought that you would finally notice me and that you would say how much you loved me even though i’m not half as good as those-”

“you are good enough y/n. in fact you’re too good for me and i am so happy that you’ve been there for me all this time because i’m so grateful and proud of you y/n and i’m sorry that i can’t love you the way you love me i really am.” 

“you can’t love me?”

“i can’t magically change the way i feel about you and i wouldn’t want to lie and i do love you like that when i really don’t, it wouldn’t be fair, i’m sorry y/n, i'm so desperately sorry that i can’t love you the way you want me to but i can’t change the way i feel.”

i take two steps back, stumbling slightly as if the words that charles has just uttered are boxing gloves that hit me over and over again in the stomach.

“well i can’t love anyone else but you charles.  trust me i’ve tried.” 

“y/n it would never work even if we tried our hardest. i would be away all the time and you love your job enough that you would never quit it! and the way i fold my clothes and cook my food winds you up we just wouldn’t work!”

“if you loved me charles then i wouldn’t care, but only if you loved me”

“i’ve tried again and again and i’ve failed.”

“everyone expects it, the media, carlos, your family everyone so charles say you’ll be mine and we can run away together and be happy!”

“i can never say ‘yes’ with all my heart say i won’t say it and eventually you will look back at this and see that i was right and you’ll thank me for it, trust me when i say that.” 

“i would rather die then love someone that wasn’t you!”

“no y/n you’ll find the perfect man one day and you’ll love him ten times more than you loved me and you’ll see that there is love after heartbreak. you’ll see how we never would’ve worked and that this love you feel for me right now was nothing but the love of a friend. you’ll see how i would’ve made the worlds worst husband and that the way i do things is so unbearable.”

“anything else?”

“no... except from the fact that i don’t think i will ever love and marry someone as much as you did for me and i don’t mind because i’m happy how i am now.”

i shake my head, how can a statement be so untrue.

“you will love someone. you will live and die for them, waiting on their beck and call and i know that because it’s just true, and i will watch in the corner of sorrow and under the watchful pity eyes.”

“y/n...”

i walk away. the two normal beating hearts that entered the conversation are now like shards of glass and we both cry, even charles, the one that broke and stole my heart.

it’s been many years since that day yet, he still manages to haunt me, in my dreams, in the faces of the people i walk past day to day and yet i have gotten nothing but silence from you. i’ve been forced to move on with my life even if my heart is still stuck in my past and i can’t help but reminisce on what could’ve been. 

i’ve tried doing different things to get my mind off, which is why i am currently walking down the roads of monaco. the sun is beaming down on my face and for a moment i feel as if i am free, unaware that at the start of the street is arthur leclerc. 

little arthur leclerc, the one that would always try and barge into charles’ room whenever i was around and the one that had fallen in love with me, though i never took notice. i never noticed the way he lit up with joy whenever i was around, or how his cheeks were always a deep shade of red whenever i would speak to him. i didn’t notice because i was too in love with charles, or i was just blind. it’s probably both. 

arthur leclerc sits in the passenger seat of his friends car, who is chatting away, though arthur is not taking in a single word, too busy looking out at the world that surrounds him. he looks at all the people that are lost in their own world admiring how they look so peaceful, until he sees her,

the girl that made him realise love at first sight was real. she was the girl that made little him realise that just because he loves someone doesn’t mean they have to love you back. the girl that made him smile just because of her presence.

“y/n! stop the car! y/n!”  

he jumps out immediately, leaving his poor friend all alone in his car, though arthur doesn’t care as he runs towards the girl from his past.

“oh arthur! oh how you’ve grown! the last time i saw you, you were up to my shoulder, now look at you, i’m up to your shoulder!”

it’s true, arthur was a new man, he was handsome and so mature, he... well he looked like charles.. but better? i’m not sure. 

“yeah, it sure has been a long, long time! i was waiting to see you at the hotel party!”

“you were very hard to find and i couldn’t see you and trust me i looked far and wide!” 

“well you didn’t look hard enough”

“maybe we passed at one point but you’ve become so beautiful, i just coulnd’t recognise you!” 

he pulls a face at my compliment and laughs. 

“oh please”

“why? what did i say? i was just being hones-” i can’t keep a straight face and i burst out laughing, i never was a good actress or charmer.

“no, not at all. where’s your mother and father anyway?”

“they’ve gone to london, leaving me all on my own but it’s okay, at least i’m having fun”

“by having fun, do you mean drinking and clubbing and flirting?” his voice is teasing me and i don’t seem to mind, it’s been a while since i’ve seen him of course,

“oh please don’t tell your mother!” i tease him back, i’ve always loved his mother,

“well what are you doing here hmm? are you chasing some strapping young gentlemen.”

ouch. i know he’s joking but it still hurts to be reminded of what has happened in the past so i put on a half hearted smile on my face and say “no”

he instantly drops his cheerful tone and instead puts a more thoughtful and sombre look. 

“oh.. i... i couldn’t believe that charles turned you down, i thought it was all some joke at first, i’m sorry.”

“don’t be. you’re not charles so it’s okay and i expected it.”

“OI ARTHUR! COME BACK” arthur’s friend shouts, still sat in his car.

we laugh, a real one.

and as arthur runs back to the car he’s shouting “come to the new years party! everyones going so you wouldn’t want to miss out. oh and you can finally meet laura! meet me at the hotel at lets say seven and wear your nicest dress!”

“i will!” i say and then i am gone, my mind returning to the sad mood it was in earlier.

arthur watches from his seat, turning his head to meet the annoyed face of his pal.

“it’s y/n!”

“i know”

he looks at her again with so much love, the same amount he’s loved her since he met her.

it was gorgeous. the atmosphere, the decor, the banquet, everything, it was so beautiful, well at least what i could remember. arthur leclerc stands in the middle of the room chatting away, of course due to him being the favourite shining star in the room. he switches between dancing with his partner laura and then drinking with his friends, overall charming everyone that he passes by. but his mood goes sour after spotting me, in my drunken haze chatting obnoxiously with two men i had found on my way to the venue, sat on the sofa placed on the edge of the room.

he frowns and sighs as he pulls himself together to approach us without making a scene.

“y/n” he scolds, his hands placed on his hips.

“arthur” i reply back, mocking his tone of voice

“i waited and waited”

“i’ve been caught I waited an hour for you.”

“i’ve been caught gents” i say putting my hands up. 

arthur scoffs and turns around, walking away, which causes me to follow.

“arthur please, i’m sorry!”

“do you want to know what i really think of you y/n?”

“what do you really think about me?”

“i hate you. i hate you so much”

i can’t help but chuckle slightly at how blunt he sounds.

“why do you hate me arthur?”

“because instead of moving on and being happy you are too focused on the past, it’s unbelievable!”

“oh that’s interesting arthur.”

“well i mean selfish people do like to talk about themselves.”

“am i selfish then?”

“yes, very. what with your money, talent, beauty and health-”

“beauty you say?”

“of course you mention that you vain vanity. when you have all these gorgeous things around you, you can only focus on yourself.”

i go to grab his hand, wearing the ring that’s been there for many years.

my voice comes out mockingly as i say “i will be good for you mother arthur i swear!”

he sighs again.

“are you not disappointed with yourself?”

“no”

“you’ve never done a day of hard work in your life and the ring you’re wearing right now looks absolutely ridiculous.”

“charles gave me that ring”

 silence.

“i feel sorry for you and i wish you would just get over it.”

“you don’t have to feel sorry for me arthur, you’ll feel like this one day”

“no i won’t, i would rather be respected if i couldn’t be loved then act like a child.”

the next words i let out are nothing but my drunken words.

“what have you done recently anyway arthur? have you done any? or have you been too busy ogling over women that aren’t yours. poor laura clark. LAURA CLARK everybody.”

i leave the silent room quickly leaving arthur to pick up the pieces of the night. 

“i’m so sorry laura.”

it’s been a couple of days since everything went down at the new years party and yet arthur hadn’t been able to get the girl off his mind, even when he was driving on the bloody simulator! he wondered what was going on with him. was he sick in the head to imagine a different girl lying his bed instead of his very loving girlfriend?

“hello arthur!”

speak of the devil and she shall appear. 

“i don’t want to talk to or see you” 

“oh arthur my darling i’m so sorry for how i behaved, it was the alcohol that made me say it, please forgive me!”

i pout my lips at arthur, putting on my best puppy dog eyes,

“the alcohol you say... did you have some before coming to see me?”

“only a little, and i mean it is happy hour somewhere so you can’t expect me to not drink away. plus, i’ve only had a little so you can’t be too hard on me” 

my hands part slightly to show visually how much i’ve drunk, which if i must say so myself isn’t the same amount i normally 

“no one else is doing it, so i’m doing it”

i ignore him, focusing on the track he’s currently “driving”

“soooo when are you getting on the track, mr leclerc?”

he finally pauses the track to turn and face me,

“never.”

his face is sad but i can see he’s accepted his future,

“um what are you talking about. what do you mean ‘never’ “

“i mean that i am never going to be ‘arthur leclerc the best driver ever’, i am always going to be know as ‘arthur leclerc - chalres leclercs little brother’ “

“oh arthur that’s a strong statement to make, at what twenty?”

“well i’ve matured quicker. i see the world how it actually is and it’s made me realise that no matter how hard i try, i will always be in the shadows. so i gave up.”

he’s an idiot. a handsome one but still an idiot 

“why though? you have so much talent that shouldn’t be wasted.”

“well you should know that just because i have talent doesn’t mean i can make it. many people have this talent and yet they’ll never ever get as close to where i am right now. and i want to either be the best or nothing, no in-between and right now i am nothing so i will stay that way forever. ” 

i don’t say anything for a while. 

“so now that you’ve given up with racing, what are you going to do instead?”

“well i guess i will get a job and settle down, marry someone and have some kids.” 

i laugh.

“i guess that’s where laura comes in hm?”

he pushes me playfully and scoffs.

“don’t make fun, she makes me happy”

arthur knows that what he’s saying is true, but he just doesn’t mean it the way you would assume he means. laura is a nice girl, someone that makes him happy when he’s having a bad day, but only in a platonic way. he’s tried time and time again to make himself love her the way she does to him, but no matter how much he tries, he just can’t because when he closes his eyes, the girl that was his past is there. her haunting smile plastered on her face, eyes bright. 

“i’m not, trust me! though i have to ask, are you engaged to be wed yet?” 

“no...”

the air is tense between us, yet i can’t help but continue to ask questions.

“but one day you will be won’t you, you’ll get down on your knee for her soon won’t you.”

“probably, yes. she makes me happy”

“well that’s... nice but it sounds weird to hear arthur leclerc is planning to marry someone one”

“well i’ve always know i wanted a family young, so why should i be embarassed of that?” 

“no, i never said that i just mean that... just that as long as you love her that’s all”

“well i think we have the power to choose who we love and that it doesn’t just happen.”

“i think history would disagree with you.”

“well i am not history i am just a human. a human that wants to just make my family and friends proud. i want to have a family and a wife who i can love so very much. i want to support my family and i want to love whoever i want. i want to get over my past and focus on my present and future and yet i just can’t.”

the sound of a car honks, causing both of us to jump in fright. arthur speaks first

“that’s probably laura now,” he turns to me “how do i look? do i look okay.”

i look at him. i really look at him.

“you look.. you look so handsome, you are handsome arthur”

i don’t see it, but arthurs cheeks are now a deep shade of red. he attempts to smile it off and then runs off to meet with laura, leaving me to watch from the window. they embrace and they laugh and smile together and i can’t help but feel nauseous in my stomach but it can’t be jealousy. it’s just me feeling protective of this boy, the one i’ve known since i was a child. yes, yes that’s what i’m feeling.

a few more days have passed and me and arthur have managed to become great friends. i’ve also managed to bury my feelings, or whatever i’m thinking about him as well. we currently lay beneath a big oak tree in the park and we busy ourselves with the occasional conversation. arthur also busies himself, by occasionally sketching out a drawing. we’ve found peace in the world.

the silence is broken when arthur asks “y/n when are you going to see your parents?”

“oh, quite soon.”

“you’ve said that over a dozen times this month, trust me if i earned money every time you said that , i would be the richest person ever!” 

“well, short answers will always save trouble and i don’t know exactly when.”

“they expect you y/n, so why don’t you just go see them.”

“i’m not ready to go back i guess and if i go it means we won’t get to hang out together anymore.” 

i jump up and playfully swat him, bringing my hand up to punch him but he grabs it before i can even lower it. i stare at him long and hard, analysing ever single detail on his face. i really don’t get how i never noticed how good looking he was when we were young. and at least he notices me.

“what are you doing?”

“i’m looking at you.”

“no y/n, i mean what do you want to do with yourself?”

“i’ve been trying to write a play, figured that would be something that could get me somewher-”

“it’s a waste of your time.”

“well what better idea do you have for me?”

“go back to your parents and go back to uni and get your degree, just make something of yourself, doing something you enjoy.”

he returns to his sketching once again and i can’t help but become curious of what he’s drawing. arthur obviously notices my curiosity and hands me one of his old sketches, one he did years ago. it’s of me and charles, me staring at him and him looking off into the distance. pffft how much of an idiot was i? he didn’t see me as more than a friend and it was clear even if you took one glance at our behaviour towards each other, what with me always wanting to hold him close and look him in the eye and he only wanted to hang out with me. i guess i was just blinded by “love” to notice that the love wasn’t even love, it was friendship.

“when did you do this one?” 

“um that one was ... the day of the beach i think, the day i met laura” 

just the mention of her name, makes me want to run home and scream and cry into my pillow. god and she’s his fiancé as well. i feel bad because i haven't even met the girl but i just can’t seem to stop my blood from boiling and then i get this realisation in my mind. 

i’m in love with arthur leclerc. god, people must think i have an obsession with the leclerc brothers, but i can reassure you i don’t. i don’t see him as charles leclercs little brother anymore, i see him as arthur leclerc the boy who has made you the happiest women in the world by just being next to me, and never have i felt more grateful for that day on the hill, because that day i was set free and without that day i never would’ve seen arthur as anything less than a friends younger brother. yet i’m too late now, his heart has been stolen by another and i will never ever, get the chance to hold him close and feel his fingers running through my hair. i will never get the chance to speak to him about how much i love him without being rejected so horribly. i will never get to tell him that his laugh is like a drug to me and that his smile is a cure to all of my pain or that he is.. he is just everything to me. he is someone that a prince is based off of and maybe in another world, he would actually be my prince, but we don’t all get our happy endings.

“when is she coming back?”

“a week maybe two but when she gets back, we’ll start getting the planning together.”

i don’t know where i get the confidence to utter the next words but i do.

“don’t marry her.”

i prepare myself for the harsh rejection but all arthur can let out is a quiet

“what?”

“i said don’t marry her.”

my voice is louder this time and i’m sure he can hear what i’ve said.

“why?”

“you know why arthur...”

i take two steps towards him and go to grab his hand but he pulls away.

“no. stop it y/n... you’re being mean and you know it. you can’t just mess with my feelings like that, i’m not a toy.”

by now tears are slipping down our cheeks.

“why?”

“i have always been second to charles, in everything and you know it, but what you don’t know is the amount of times i’ve cried over you and the fact that charles had gotten the girl was heart braking and yet now you care when you feel like you like me back. y/n that’s not fair. you can’t just pick and choose when you want me. especially not now when i am happy-”

“but your not happy and you know that! i see the way you are with her, leading her on. you’re acting like charles did to me so don’t call me mean.”

“but you are y/n and i won’t stop this wedding just for you to love me for a month or two, no i won’t do it, not when i’ve spent my entire life loving you.”

it’s been a day since arthur last saw you and he already missed you like crazy. he really don’t know how charles managed to give up such an amazing girl like you, it was a topic he would often think about. either way, arthur couldn’t stop thinking about you and your sad eyes as he left you alone in a hurry. he rushes into his friends house, excited to actually finally have peace for the first time in weeks

“hello mate!”

“y/n was just here.”

“was she?” 

“yeah, she said she would be off to see her family for a bit” his friend nods and arthur can’t help but smile. 

“when will he be coming back here?”

“why do you care so much, what do you need to chat about so urgently?”

“... i just told laura that i couldn’t marry her.” 

“does you breaking up with laura have anything to do with y/n?”

“yes.”

he doesn’t even bother lying because he’s in love and no one is in his way. he can love the girl of his dreams freely, without shame and with the knowledge that she loves him back. wow, that feels nice to say.

i watch as arthur stands at the train station, waiting with his luggage, occasionally checking his watch, when i pull my car up, getting out and walking towards him slowly, still aware of the tension between us.

“i couldn’t let you go home alone and i figured i needed to go home as well, even if you hate me.”

“oh y/n i don’t hate you.”

“i love you” he wants to say, but he can’t.

we hug and when he pulls back he holds eye contact with me and says “i’m not marrying laura”

“i heard.”

“i didn’t do it for you, i did it for me so don’t you think for even one minute, that i did this for you, it’s because i realised, that i didn’t love her.”

i look at his face carefully, with nothing but love and affection, when i slowly take his face into my hands and kiss him. i kiss him slowly at first and then a bit quicker, arthur matching my movements, we kiss for the time that we could’ve been in love with each other and we kiss to grieve the time we lost, and i know that this is how it’s meant to be. this is what home feels like and this is what forever feels like. arthur is the one for me, 

meanwhile, charles sits with his mother, taking a break from the stress of the races, looking out at the world, thinking about his past and future, when suddenly, his mother speaks up.

“did you know that y/n is coming home soon?”

that makes charles interested, straight away lifting his head encouraging his mother to speak more.

“is she?”

she nods “arthur messaged, he’s coming home, he said he misses us dearly and he said that y/n will come home with him.” 

“hmm that’s nice of her to join him.” charles stands up quickly and begins to pace the room anxiously.

“what's wrong?”

“i think maybe... maybe i was a bit quick in turning down y/n.”

“well, do you love him?”

“i think that if she asked me again i would say yes.... but do you reckon she’ll ask me again?”

“i didn’t ask that charles... do you love her?”

“ i want to be loved.”

“you know that isn’t the same thing”

“i’m just so lonely ma”

“i know charles, but it’s okay.” 

charles suddenly feels the need to express his words for me, writing pages and pages. it reads:

‘dear y/n, i miss you more than i have ever missed anything. i haven’t been able to get my mind off of you for a couple days and i’ve realised that maybe letting you go was one of the worst i could’ve done. i think it was because i was young and i didn’t want to make such a big commitment that could possibly ruin our friendship, which was ruined anyway as soon as i said no. but time has moved on and i’ve matured and i’ve come to the realisation that i cannot live another moment without waking up beside you and that i was a fool to turn you down. i just hope that even after all this time i’ve still managed to stay in your heart because i can say without a doubt, you will always be in mine.”

once finishing the letter he places it on the pillow of the guest room, the one that the girl he loves will put her head on. he feels free after putting it down, finally being able to say the words that have been on this conscious for a while.

“charles” i say, nudging my friend out of his slumber. “charles.”

his eyes flutter open, widening once he sees me.

“y/n! oh y/n your really here!”

he jumps up and bundles me into a hug, one that makes me stumble backwards whilst wearing the biggest smile i had ever seen in my life.

“oh charles, did you miss me?”

i feel charles nod against me and i smile.

“i really did, you don’t understand and no words can express exactly how happy i am to see you either.”

“oh thank god, i thought that you would’ve forgotten about me. anyway, i wanted to speak to you, alone.”

“yes, yes what is it. come sit down.”

the air is different. it’s not like we’re twenty one again, always laughing and joking around with each other. no it isn’t like that at all, because we’ve grown up.  

he attempts to make a joke. “how was arthur, did he bother you on the flight with his constant chatter?”

i laugh and smile, just at the thought of arthur. 

“yes but i loved it.” 

“speaking of arthur, where is he? did he stop off somewhere before coming here?”

“he’s speaking to your mother, and you just know that no matter how hard i tried, there was no way i was getting my boyfriend out of her clutches.” 

i don’t see it, but charles’ face drops instantly as soon as the word ‘boyfriend’ leaves my mouth. boyfriend? arthur leclerc dating y/n y/l/n?

“your... your what?”

once i realise my mistake i sigh in dissapointment.

“oh god. now i’ve done it! we were supposed to keep it a surprise for dinner but look at me! i ruined it!”

“what surprise?”

 “well, that arthur finally plucked up the courage and finally asked me to be his girlfriend of course!”

“you and... arthur.” 

“yes, it happened very fast, one day we were just friends and then the next were in love.”

“are you really.... in love with him?” 

“yes. oh and charles i wanted to say just one more thing and then we can just sweep it under the mat forever. i have always loved you charles and i probably always will but the love i have for arthur is different.... you were right, by the way, we would've killed each other.”

“ye- yes.” 

“i think we were lucky to not go any further than a friendship so thank you charles.”

“oh,... y/n/n.”

 “did you know that no one calls me that apart from you.”

“what does arthur call you?”

“princess.” i’m joking of course but i don’t charles realises, once again proving that we are now different people. 

“that sounds like him. you deserve each other.”

“charles... can we still be friends?”

he swallows painfully and forces out his words.

“of course y/n, forever.”

we move to go downstairs, myself going to greet their mother again, whereas arthur meets charles at the bottom of the stairs, pulling him to another room.

“did y/n tell you?”

“yes.” 

arthur looks at him expectantly and charles feels the anger overtake him and he feels as if he could fight with arthur, just as they used to when they were children but manages to calm himself, reminding himself that getting angry with arthur would ruin the relationship he had with you, again. 

“arthur, i’m happy for you, i really am. it was written in the stars.”

“oh, thank goodness, i wish i could’ve told you myself but it just happened so fast and i was just really scared of how you would feel because, well you know why.”

"no, no. never.”

"so you aren’t angry?”

yes. yes he is but never would he say it out loud, it would be a secret he would take to the grave.

“life's too short to hold a grudge against your brother.” 

“thank you charles.”

and arthur really means it, because without charles no, arthur never would’ve gotten the girl of his dreams. without charles saying no, he would still be standing on the sidelines and he would forever be in debt with charles for that.

but charles didn’t mean it, because due to charles saying no, arthur got the girl of his dreams and due to charles saying no, arthur got to leave the sideline and now no amount of repaid debt would ever make charles’s heart feel half as full as it did when y/n was his best friend.

but y/n was never his, she was arthurs and he would just have to accept that.

[bisexualfemalemess]

*HSMTMTS SEASON 4 SPOILERS*

Question; Is it already appropriate to stop putting a spoiler warning on my posts? lmao

Anyway, Let’s talk about 4x05 specifically, Ricky’s line “Last summer, I was terrified, when I realized i had real feelings for gina.”

Because maybe this will put the pw/rini fans down and help them accept that rina is and was supposed to be endgame no matter what happened with liv and josh. Also, I’ve literally never seen anyone talk about this and maybe i’m just exaggerating lmao.

I think Ricky could have just as easily said something along the lines of “when i realized i had feelings/ when i realized i developed real feelings for gina” but he didn’t. Because he knew he liked Gina from the moment she kissed his cheek in that orange bug after homecoming, we’ve seen them flirt and we’ve seen him shoot a shot several episodes after that and I don’t know about you but i don’t give a spin hug to my friends. He stopped pursuing Nini as soon as gina came into the picture and that’s a fact, they didn’t bring the rickyxnini couple storyline back until after Gina moved, he didn’t actively pursue nini until Gina told him to stop calling and even then he kept texting her and we see him distracted throughout the next episode, the almost kiss didn’t happen until after Gina had replied and told him they were leaving early, only once he knew gina was completely out of the picture, did he go back to nini. He said it himself, he reverted back to his old self because he didn’t have gina in his life anymore and when gina told him she wouldn’t quit on them if she wasn’t moving away he genuinely looked upset about it as well. In episode 1 of season 2 at Ashlyn’s new years even party, that boy did a Triple Take when gina went to get a root-beer, the feelings were still there, they were just buried because he didn’t think he would see Gina again when he made his confession to Nini so he held on to what he used to know and who he used to be, because we all know that ricky bowen is not good with change. Now, in episode three of the season, the iconic valentines episode, The way he looks at her, the way his voice softens while talking to her, his line “I think you’ll get yours too.” After gina told him that every girl likes a sweet gesture, THE NEXT SCENE BEING THE CHOCOLATES, the fact that ricky got messages from nini and gina only seconds apart but he only looked onto his face once gina’s message came on, all of these things hint towards ricky’s feelings, even in 2x04 when Nini came to surprise the group in the bomb shelter, Ricky and Gina looked like they just got caught cheating even though all they did was talk and laugh. Last point, Episode five and six, He was in awe of gina when she was dancing (gina porter effect) and only went to gina for advice on nini because she had helped him the previous two times when he hadn’t even actually asked for advice in 2x04 and 2x03, The boy probably thought she was trying to get over him. In the next episode even though she had already tried to break off contact with him, he still asked to partner up with her and smiled at her when she looked at him while saying she doesn’t know what her heart desires. Even during Ashlyn’s retention of home we see ricky look at gina when he comes back in. RICHARD BOWEN HAS ALWAYS HAD FEELINGS FOR GINA PORTER, THE SEASON 3 PLOT LINE WAS NOT RANDOM OR CAME OUT OF NOWHERE. Ricky just finally realized what he could’ve had if gina didn’t move away once he lost it. RINA WAS ALWAYS SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN AND BE ENDGAME. THEY DIDNT COME OUT OF NOWHERE OR ONLY HAPPENED BECAUSE OLIVIA LEFT. Because, fact-check Season 2 was filmed before the drivers-license drama, they did not break them up because things between liv and josh got tense. Your ship was not supposed to be endgame.

(In tomorrows post i will rant about the people who say that rina copied rini and portwells scenes And that gina is the new nini because literally where?)